Legacy of Dragoon
by Ribbis
Summary: Generations after the final events of the game, strange and unexpected happenings begin taking place on Endiness, resulting in what could be the end of the world yet again. Attempt at a completely original, mature look at the LOD universe.
1. The Killing Fields

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Legend of Dragoon nor do I claim to. I do, however, claim the characters and plot of this story which, as far as I'm concerned, is original.

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter One: The Killing Fields**

He had worked without rest in the field for over four hours, baking in the heat of the Serdian sun and feeling his skin try to tan darker than it already had from weeks of the same strain. He straightened up amongst the rows for a moment, feeling a light breeze play across his neck and face and sucking down the taste of the jerky gnashed between his teeth. He couldn't help but let a smile fall over his face like a light sheet drifting down from the clear sky. It was hard work, but he had grown to love it as a part of the rest of his life. After he had finished ploughing the row, he slung his hoe over one powerful shoulder and began walking back to the smoke house. Upon entering, he was greeted by a familiar face; Dario, the farmhand in charge of curing and smoking the various meats raised on the farm.

Dario looked up from tenderizing a raw steak for supper and with a smile called, "So, Nolan, how is the jerky this month? Not too dry I hope?"

Nolan looked back with a frown.

"The only thing wrong with it," he began, "is that it lasts so long. I chewed some for over an hour in the field and it still tasted fine. What kind of unnatural things have you been doing to this meat?"

He cracked up halfway through the punchline and Dario laughed with him. Nolan's father owned the farm and supported a dozen farmhands on the property, so they were his only friends.

"It will probably sell at market as quickly as it did last time, Dario. Just make a little extra for me, okay? I love the stuff."

"Oh, hey, take these!" Dario replied, handing Nolan six long strips of the dried, chewy meat, "at least I get recognition from you for breaking my back making the stuff, Nolan! It's almost not worth it seeing my work taken away to be re-sold by merchants and mindlessly chewed by drunk peasants! At least it sells out, so I know it's good, eh?"

Nolan was already walking towards the door; if he stayed any longer, Dario would talk his ear off until sundown, and Nolan had work to do. He stuffed the dried meat into his waist pouch and set off down the path, worn into dust by years of feet pounding the earth, towards the barn. He hauled open the large wooden door, tossed the hoe into a corner and set about climbing into the clustered loft where he hid his weapons. On a ledge created by the wall of the barn meeting the slanting roof, he had stashed three shafts from old tools which he had sharpened into solid, pointy spears. Among the refuse in the loft was a discarded scarecrow which he used for practice, despite frequently having to change the fabric keeping all of the straw in. There were already lengths of cord attached to each of the dummy's arms which ended in sacs of small rocks. By hurling the sacs over the nearby rafters and planting the scarecrow into the ground, Nolan could dangle the dummy at about ground level and practice on it with his spear without worry of knocking it over and having to start over.

He was enjoying the shade inside the otherwise baking barn and forcefully striking the dummy with an already splintering wooden shaft when he heard a feminine voice from behind him, "Is this what you're always sneaking in here to do?"

He quickly spun around and saw Rachelle standing in the entrance to the lofty barn. She had been like a mother to him for his entire life. However, and earlier than his father would have liked him to, Nolan discovered that she was, in fact, not his real mother. His father had still not disclosed to him the whereabouts of his biological mother. By the time he was fourteen Nolan had realized that his father wouldn't have kept such a thing from him without good cause to and accepted it as part of his life on the expansive ranch which he was bound to inherit. Rachelle was not a bad mother figure to have, either. Even now, silhouetted by the bright sunlight streaming into the barn, she was beautiful in a working dress with a stained apron covering the front of the brown felt.

"Yeah, and I'm getting pretty good," he replied, trying to regain a little ground by not letting on he had been startled.

Nolan then tried twirling the spear in his hand, but when he went around his back to pass it into his left hand, he struck himself on the back of the head with the blunt end of the spear. He bent down and covered the back of his head with both hands as she laughed at him.

"If Ryan saw you doing this, I don't even know what he would say. Why are you choosing to be violent like this, Nolan? You are just a boy working on a farm, you will never need to use – what is this? A spear?- against someone else," she said without a hint of chagrin in her voice. In fact, she spoke in the curious and genuinely caring manner of a mother speaking to her child.

"I... I just," Nolan sighed deeply, "you don't know that, mom. I may have to use this some day, and I want to be able to help Dad protect you and our farm. It's all that we have, mom, and I don't want to lose a bit of it." Of course he not only spoke of the farm but everyone on it, who were like a family to Nolan. He had no siblings and would otherwise be a very bored and overworked young man.

"Nolan, you're a very selfless young man, you know that? But don't let yourself get carried away, okay? Hurting people isn't what helps you _or_ others, you got that?"

He looked down at the ground with a somber look on his face which hid the fact that he had completely disregarded what she had said. _You may not think that way mom_, he thought, _but I know that other people don't have the same mentality as you. I may only be seventeen, but I know that some people in this world are just evil. They can't be helped._

"Okay, mom," he muttered, "you're not going to tell dad, right?"

"Of course not, Nolan. But please don't let me catch you in here when you're supposed to be working, alright?"

He nodded in agreement and once Rachelle was gone he delivered a final stab to the face of the scarecrow, completely obliterating it and sending straw flying out the back of the mask. He lifted the dummy on the spear and threw it over the rafter beams onto the hay-strewn floor.

"I've gotten too good to stop now, anyway," he muttered to himself.

Leaving the barn now with a pair of heavy shovels in hand, Nolan began the trek to the huge house situated in the center of the expansive ranch to propose finally digging the new well with his father. His sweat-dranched shirt stuck to his skin as the sun covered his body in a hot and heavy housing which seemed to increase the very force of gravity on his limbs. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose, his chin, it flowed into his eyes and down the small of his back into his shorts. It was this harsh heat which had not only caused Nolan to collapse from exhaustion on several occasions, vomiting from dehydration and heatstroke, but had allowed him to work himself into a solid, powerful young man. His shoulders were harder than the bone to which the very muscles clung, his stomach and back were like rippling boards of hardwood from years of bending and straightening in the fields, and his chest and arms could endure supporting great amounts of weight for extended periods of time, like support columns in a great fortress.

Halfway to the majestic-looking farmhouse Nolan peered out across the voluminous expanse of the fields from under the brim of his straw hat to see something that troubled him; dust rising about a kilometre away from him. Rarely had he seen visitors from outside the ranch, and usually those who did left his father in a sour mood for whatever reaaon – he usually paid no mind. However, the amount of dust rising told Nolan that this was not the single horse of a messenger, but a small contingent of entirely mounted folk whose number he put at about ten. Despite it only being a cloud of dust, faultless enough at a glance, he felt a menacing presence about the rising, lightly colored dirt slowly approaching from the east. Nonetheless, he continued to the house, passing by the mill in which the mill-workers, Sigmund and Tessa, ground wheat to make their own bread to sell in town for a tidy profit.

By the time Nolan had reached the house, he noticed that the mounts of whoever had arrived were grazing to the far side of the house and the mysterious travelers were nowhere to be seen. Becoming immediately suspicious, he placed the shovels on the ground and stalked around the side of the building closest to himself. He could hear his fathers' voice angrily arguing with another deeper, gruff voice he did not recognize. He approached a large window at about his shoulder level which swung ajar on loose hinges, curtains flowing outward into the hot afternoon daylight. Slowly, he peeked over the edge of the window to see his father's back and two others in the room who he immediately did not like the sight of. The first of the visitors stood to his father's left, leaning against the wall with an emotionless look on his face, picking his nails with a dagger and seeming entirely focused on it. His body seemed to be hewn out of mostly scar tissue which stood out in lumps and valleys all across his flesh.

The second visitor was speaking to Nolan's father and only seemed capable of frowning with his ugly, slightly less scarred face. He was bare-chested, flaunting an elaborate black tattoo spreading itself across his chest and arms. Nolan was startled to see a few sheets of armor over his baggy, black pants and a sword strapped to his waist. The stranger stepped forward with a smile and held his hand out, palm up, to nobody in particular, "come on, sir, we've got a lot more places to get to and oh-so-little time to get to them. Just give us the deed for your land and we'll let your family go. I don't know what I can do about the workers on the farm, but I'll see if we can work something out."

Nolan couldn't see his father's expression but could hear it in his voice, "What would the church want with _my_ land, you vagabond? In the name of Soa or not, you will _not_ get my land! Get out now, or I'll see to it you're forced out."

He heard his father's fist hit the table, a common display of anger for him, but Nolan feared it because his father seemed unable to perceive his attackers' weapon as well as the number of intruders that were actually on the farm. The scarred man was looking up from his nails impatiently.

"Look, uh, Ryan? Is that what your name is now? I'm perfectly fine with killing every human soul on this farm right now, but I'm willing to negotiate with you for the deed to this land in exchange for your life. The church needs this land, for whatever reason, and I was told to use any means neccessary to get it from you, mister," he looked at a sheet of parchment he had placed on the table, "Ryan Lambert."

The intruder looked up at Ryan from his sheet with eyes that seemed not only to hate now, but to recognize either Nolan's father or something about him which made Nolan very uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Ryan with a voice that was not only powerful but growling with rage now.

"This land is all that I have, and if the church wants it, the damned pope can come down here and get it his goddamn self! But I'm not handing my land over to a bunch of dusty mercenaries like yourselves who _claim_ to be acting in the name of a priesthood! Do you have any idea how immoral and ridiculous you sound?"

Nolan felt very proud of his father for saying this but was still very fearful for him as there were at least twelve horses in front of the house when he had arrived and he didn't think his father knew. Something light was being dragged accross the floor near the wall where he was standing when the mercenary spoke again, "Don't think that you still intimidate me, Cross. Haha, remember we used to call you that? Cyrus Cross, the man of _many_ names but just one mind."

Nolan's fear grew as he heard the dirty man laugh cruelly and continue, "And what a twisted mind that was! I remember we would do some crazy stuff in those days, Cross, but you were always the craziest. And here you are now, dirt farming in the middle of nowhere. Amazing how people change isn't it?"

Ryan drew in a deep breath and spoke in a much more solemn voice, "I was hoping there wasn't anyone left to remind me of that. But now that I think of it there was something about you I remebered, and it was that long, dirty ponytail of yours. Your Fungai, aren't you? That kid who always followed Haldor around. You were a little snot! Never up to any good, never making a use of yourself, now look at you! But I guess people with soiled beginnings meet soiled ends, don't they?"

He chuckled to himself, and Nolan noted with horror that his father sounded horribly defeated.

"Sure whatever you say, Cross. But then again, I'm going to be the one who ends up on top in all of this, aren't I? You won't be able to stop us, Cross, and we're going to have your land by the end of this day-"

"Fungai, I get the feeling that it wasn't chance but fate that led you here, of all people. But either way you will not be 'on top' at the end of this endeavour." Nolan heard another sigh and something dragging before his father said, "It seems I'm chained to everything I tried to leave behind, Fungai, and you are my anchor!"

Nolan heard a commotion from inside of the house and a series of loud thuds and groans before he ran for the old barn. _Dad, what have you left behind? _He thought, _and what has it brought back to your family?_ He cut through several rows of acai and sugarcane before the barn was in sight. He could only think about what his father had been called by that mercenary and what it could possibly mean. Hadn't his father been a farmer his whole life, and his father before him? _Probably all lies, _thought Nolan, _but __if Dad hasn't bashed him up already, I'll show him why it pays to lie!_ He could now see the door to the barn, already open. _Wait a minute,_ he thought, _didn't I close that on the way-_

He couldn't even finish his thought before he was knocked unconcscious by someone hiding just inside the entrance to the barn.

Nolan awoke on his back staring into the clear, blue sky. _Did I pass out from exhaustion __**again**_, he thought to himself, before realizing that his hands were bound behind him and he could feel something crusty on the back of his neck. He slowly sat up and looked around; everyone on the farm was around him and bound in a similar manner, though most were on their knees. The ones that weren't lay motionless on the ground either unconscious or dead, but Nolan was too panicked to determine which. Broken glass was scattered along the ground by an impact to the window of the farmhouse. He saw Tessa leaning on Sigmund's shoulder, sobbing, while he whispered comforting words into her ear. Rachelle was looking to Nolan's right with an expression of both pain and disbelief on her face – she, too, had dried blood on the back of her neck. Then Nolan heard the voice of his father.

"Why would you do this? Kill everyone on this farm for no reason!? If it's me you're here for, Fungai, then why are you doing this to them!?"

He could hear Fungai's cruel cackling start halfway through his father's sentence, and when Nolan lay eyes upon the dark-skinned, dirty man there was no doubt in his mind that he had never hated anyone more.

"I told you, Cross, the Church of Soa told me to! I'll read it to you again-" he held up the rumpled piece of parchment to his face, "aqcuisition of this plot of land by any means neccessary issued to blah blah... and among these names I found you, 'Ryan Lambert!' Like you said, it must have been fate."

The tattooed mercenary rubbed the parchment in Ryan's face and let it flutter to the ground. Nolan saw the distinct green emblem depicting the divine tree stamped onto the paper and his heart sank. If the church was doing this, who else could there be to stop them? They were one of the most powerful organizations in Endiness itself and they were doing _this_? The reality of such an apparently impossible occurence hit Nolan so hard he could feel the pain of the impact on his mind, or maybe it was just his concussion.

"You'll burn for this, Fungai. Mark my words, you will BURN for this!!! The sovereignty will have no-"

He was silenced by the hilt of a weapon being dug into his back, causing him to yell and pitch forward. Before he could even hit the ground he was seized by Fungai and pulled upright by his hair. His face was drawn back and his teeth were bared in pain, but his eyes were looking straight at Nolan as the teenager screamed for his father. Fungai kneeled down beside Ryan, leaning in close to his face. He was also looking at Nolan.

"That's your boy, huh? Well, I'm glad that the last time you see him is like this. I'm also glad you'll die knowing you couldn't help him when he was being painfully killed."

Fungai reached out his hand and a dagger was placed into it. He brought his arm around Ryan's neck and whispered into his ear; "Any last words for him?"

Nolan's father stared straight at him, straight _into_ him, seeing something he would never see; a strong, proud man that was once his son. He looked like he longed to see that, and his eyes filled with tears as he said, "Nolan, I-"

Before he could even finish, the blade of the dagger was slowly dragged across his throat by the inexorable Fungai. His last words were a blood-chilling gurgle that ceased as blood poured out of his mouth into the sandy earth upon which he collapsed, dead. Nolan began to scream before he was kicked hard in the stomach by a plated boot with a small spur on it. His head was then taken and smashed into the ground, grinding shards of broken glass into his face, neck and shoulder as well as crushing his straw hat, revealing his tied-up locks. He couldn't scream and only sobbed then, weeping uncontrollably into the the very earth which now soaked up his father's fresh blood. He couldn't hear the screaming of those around him, the cries of anguish, rage and -soon afterwards- pain. He could only hear the blood pumping through his ears from his aching heart.

Shortly after the other prisoners were beaten into silence, Fungai called to his men, "Guess we can 'Cross' that one off the list, eh boys?"

He then began laughing that terrible cackle of his again, and then that was all Nolan could hear. He thought about how much he would love to hear that man scream and die a bloody, painful death.

"Boss, that one wasn't very funny," said the scarred mercenary. Fungai punched him across the face.

"Shut up, you idiot! You have the sense of humor of a damn sand-worm, you know that? If you got a problem with my jokes, then join another fucking company. Okay, stupid? Just for that you, Grey, Marlefax and four others have to take the rest of these maggots over to the Ravine and get rid of 'em!"

"Where's the Ravine, boss, I didn't know we were near there."

"That's because, like I said, you're a complete idiot! It's to the south, now get a move on!"

Nolan was lifted off of the ground and prodded into following the rest of the captives south to the Ravine. It really was difficult to tell exactly where it was because right at the edge of the farmland there was a steep dropoff into a woodland which continued to decline for about three kilometers before leveling out at the bottom of said Ravine. The valley was really just a line on a map in comparison to the farms stretching for hectares across the sub-tropical land of Izezuza; formed by the unison of Tiberoa and Serdio at the True End of the Dragon Campaign. The ravine stretched from about sixty kilometers from the western fjords to halfway across the continent and was no longer flooded in the current season.

Upon reaching the edge of the property Nolan and the others were forced back onto their knees and the worst fifteen minutes of Nolan's life began. All of the captured farmhands, including Nolan, were brutally thrashed. He could only groan weakly as he was kicked several times in the stomach and punched in the face over and over again. He thought he was surely going to lose his mind when he was forced to watch Dario slowly cut down the face by a long dagger while he was screaming in pain. The atrocities seemed like they would never end when Nolan found himself upright again, staring down the floor of the forest ten feet below the edge of the Ravine.

"Hey, Grey, you ever see what those guys in Rouge do? It kinda looks like this-" said a high-pitched voice from behind Nolan before he was kicked hard in the back and sent flying over the drop and into the woods below. He hit the ground on his side and tumbled about fifty feet down through the peat and rocks before he could stop himself. He lay in the earth for all of ten seconds before he could even bring himself to look up. He could feel his sore face swollen terribly, and thought that if his ribs weren't broken then he was probably bleeding internally from the merciless beating he had just received. The tie in his hair had come undone and his long hair had fallen into his face, tangled with dirt and leaves. He weakly brought himself to a standing position and wobbled a bit before he was brought to perfect attention by the sound of a heavy, armor-clad body hitting the ground near the top of the ravine.

"-you two go with that piece of shit and kill that damned kid! If he gets away, Fungai will treat us like this bunch here."

Nolan knew that the farmhands –his family- were beyond his help and he would be killed if he tried to save them. With a pain comparable to what he felt watching his father die, Nolan turned around and began clumsily running down into the shady Ravine. He tired almost immediately due to a great pain he felt in his stomach with every heave of breath. Lowering himself to the ground, he began forcing his hands under his buttocks and eventually past his thighs. As he tried to get his feet over the rope, he began to hear the heavy footfalls of the advancing mercenaries – looking for him. To kill him. It only took him a few seconds more to slip his toes over the rope, freeing his hands for use at the front of his body, though still bound together. He stood up, heard shouting, and froze with fear. He could hear the screams of those being murdered at the top of the embankment, even hearing Rachelle's anguished voice pierce the air one last time. This caused him to break into a run further into the deep Ravine.

The forest was well-shaded for such a hot day, but still the air was hazy and green beneath the canopy. The inside of this ravine was like a tropical forest, with everything cast into a green-blue shade, the humidity forcing every smell and particle imaginable up and out of every crevice. The overgrowth was abuzz with life in the afternoon bake, thriving in the heat and stirring up the scents and sounds of virtually untouched forest. Through this mist and swelter Nolan trudged, beaten into a senseless, directionless, emotional wreck running for his life, his own blood running down his face. He heard someone not far behind him shouting.

"Down here! I can just see him down here!"

These words gave Nolan's legs power beyond his fatigue to sprint behind a madrone tree a little ways up the path. He dug his fingers into the soil and gripped a thin root, then pulled it up a litte. It came out in the direction of the path and Nolan held it there. _Okay,_ he managed to think, _this had better work_. He listened for the heavy footfalls of his quarry to become as loud as he could bear before he pulled as hard as he could muster on the root. It ripped up out of the earth, the stringy wire flinging clumps of soil and humus in every direction and quickly snaring the legs of the sprinting assailant. The resultant force of his stopping flung Nolan to the ground and he had to bring his arms over his head to prevent from cracking his crown on a boulder he slid into. With a speed Nolan thought impossible due to his fatigue but real due to his adrenaline he stood up and fell upon the startled mercenary, beating his face with both bound fists. Once his enemy's face was bloodied and he was struggling more, Nolan desperately grabbed for a large rock nearby and began hitting the mans' face with that. He closed his eyes and released the rage -that built pressure inside of his skull and tore his mind to pieces- upon the mans' face until he felt a give, like cracking an egg.

Nolan stared down at the wheezing, unconscious being he had destroyed in his anger and dropped the stone onto the ground as his grip released in shock. He crawled away from the wretched mess and turned his back, slicing his binds on the spear his persuer had carried. He thought he would be sick should he look at the mutilated creature lying not five feet behind him as he panted and closed his eyes tight in disbelief of the last hour. _The worst part_, thought Nolan, _is his breathing. He's still alive and __**he's breathing**_. He stumbled away, leaving his victim to die alone under the madrone tree. He could hear the other two coming and planned to show them the same thing, _a slow death to show them what they have done with their worthless lives_. He continued to propel evil thoughts through his mind as he climbed another tree and wiated patiently for the two prowlers of the woods, who were cautiously calling their friends' name as he watched them count each step as their last through his domain.

He leapt down from the tree and embedded his stolen spear into the armor of the muscular warrior known as Marlefax. The man stumbled clumsily forward and Nolan continued to push him until his weapon was split in two by the club of the second hireling; the one known as Grey. Nolan dodged a second swing from Grey before embedding the broken spear shaft into his eye socket and was then shoved into the tree by Marlefax. He punched at Nolan only to crack his fist on the hard tree, causing him to toss Nolan onto Grey in anger. Grey fell onto a boulder which drove the spear shaft out of the back of his skull, spraying blood onto Nolan's chest and Marlefax's back. The big man turned to give Nolan a kick but had a spearhead driven through the top of his foot before he could follow through. He bellowed to the canopy in rage and pain, sending small flocks of birds rushing for a quieter roosting place. Nolan saw the spur on the boot and felt the bleeding stab wound in his side.

"I remember you... kicking... sonofa...urgh," he groaned as he lifted Grey's club over his head, "we'll see who you kick now."

Nolan smashed the spike through the screaming merc's foot and into the ground, and as Marlefax bent to cry over the aching wound, Nolan swung the club upward into his gaping mouth, knocking out most of his teeth. Marlefax was sent flying backwards, only to have his tendons ripped and his heel crushed as he hit the ground and fell unconscious from shock soon after the spike finally ripped through his foot.

Nolan withdrew the bloody spearhead from the ground and looked at the bloody mess he had left in the middle of the woods. _I need to get out of here before I collapse among these corpses,_ his dull mind managed to imprint into his consciousness before slowing even more from the aftershock of the adrenaline leaving his bloodstream. He could only stumble away, gripping his afflictive side in one hand and a weapon in the other, dirty, dripping blood from head to toe, drooling, panting and only able to think to himself:

_Will not become a corpse. Cannot become a corpse. Must not... become... a corpse._

* * *

**Okay. A little heavy, I know, but I'm trying to hook you in here! I pretty much have an idea of a plot for another thirty chapters or so, and if you have any ideas to contribute or want to tell me I've unknowingly stolen from someone (plagiarism is not my fuckin bag, kay?) feel free to say so and please leave a review, I like feedback! I hope I got the idea across that there was going to be some swearing and violence involved with this story, perhaps moreso than you've come to expect from the Legend of Dragoon universe. But that's the beauty of fanfiction, I can do what I want with it now! Endiness changed while you all waited 300 years for a sequel, so get over it.**

**If you care to notice I enjoy putting references to music in some characters' dialogue, not because I can't think of dialogue but because it's fun and I think of it as tribute to the music I like. If you don't know the references, don't read into it, and if you do, good for you! I intend to take those who care to join for a pretty wild ride.**


	2. A Rescue, A Resolution

**Disclaimer: **I don't like to write this every chapter but, hey, the law ain't on my side! I don't own Legend of Dragoon, just a copy of the CD which I have played many times!

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Two: A Rescue, A Resolution**

They had already been travelling through the Ravine for a whole day. It was so humid in this part of the world, but she couldn't change out of her ecclesiastical robes even if she wanted to; Hananiah saw to that. He was an older priest, being of middle age he was the appointed leader of this expedition. He held authority over both Marcellus and herself, but not the hired guard leading their religious caravan through the moist, stuffy forest. That man acted on his own impulse, it seemed to her. She didn't see the way he looked at her when she wasn't watching or hear his heavy breathing as carnal thoughts seeped into his mind's eye. It was really a shame how naive she still was, but service in the canonicate had done that to her.

Slowly moving across the floor of the overgrown pit so as not to overexert themselves, they were neither aware of the carnage to the north nor associated with it. They had been sent by the Bishop of Lohan (not a very respectful position, Lohan wasn't too diverse of a town) who had been receiving increasingly panicked messages from a small village situated on the northern edge of the Ravine, about ten clicks ahead of their current position. Apparently there had been an outbreak of some unknown disease, so the bishop had ignored the plea for fear of contamination. Soon afterwards, however, he realized that if he could stop an epidemic it would work much better for his reputation, so he decided to send two young clerics and an older priest with a caravan of supplies to the isolated hamlet. He thought of them as expendable enough, but had nonetheless burdened them with many supplies.

The second of the young clerics, Marcellus, poked his head out the back of the covered wagon and grinned.

"Hey, Angela, do you want one of the apples packed away in here? They're so perfect... we gotta eat them before they get too ripe and the bugs eat them!"

He scowled at the thought of such a thing and produced an apple from behind the curtain through which he stared at Angela.

"Marcellus, those are supplies for the people in the village, not just for us. I wouldn't count on them going bad so quickly."

"You mean that they'll last longer than those blackberries we tried to bring to Bishop Hegel?"

"The only reason those didn't last was because you threw them at those bottle kids in the alleyway!"

"But they had already gone bad anyways! And besides, bottle kids are scum," he whined.

"Nobody is scum, Marcellus, that's what you've been learning in the church, isn't it? Some people are in desperate circumstances, and they can't help it if-"

"It doesn't give them an excuse to throw perfectly good bottles at people!"

Angela sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about bottle kids, okay? I don't want an apple, just don't eat them all yourself."

She quickened her pace until she was no longer behind the wagon but beside the sweating priest. He was tiredly wiping his forehead with his stole and had removed his robe, walking wearing a simple beige cassock.

"How are you enjoying your walk on this lovely day, sir?"

"Oh, don't give me that. I'm fifty-three, not eighty! And for you to know – what was it again? Angela?- I was riding on the front of the wagon all of last night and my back is very sore. We shall have to set up camp and sleep lying down tonight, for my joints are already giving me trouble."

None of them had slept in a bed or even prone for the last two nights. There was a small space in the corner of the wagon bed where Angela and Marcellus could sit and lean on each other for more comfort, but it was neither warm nor easy to sleep in the confines of the wagon. The priest and guard rested in the front of the wagon in order to stop and rest the horses occasionally, for their goal was to remain undetected and keep moving. Angela wasn't sure if the guard even slept at all, he always seemed so alert and when spoken to, would always snap back instead of giving a normal reply.

"Father Hananiah, do you know if these woods are safe at night? I hear there are no bandits in the Ravine, but what about-"

"Monsters? Creatures of the night?"

He rolled the "r" of "creatures" off his tongue comically, then gave a hearty laugh.

"So rare are monsters found down here, young lady, that should one appear," he gestured to the guard who was sweeping his head left and right, searching the path ahead, "he would be able to stop it quite handily."

Angela knew that the strength of monsters varied from region to region and trusted that Hananiah knew what he was talking about. He had been assigned to the village not only because of his experience but because he was the official cartographer of Izezuza for the Church of Soa. He knew this region like he had flown over it, eagle-like, for thirty of his apparent fifty-three years of life.

"By the way, Angela," he continued, "what do you think of him?"

Angela stared between the plates strapped to the mercenary's shoulders at the tattoo of a severed womans' head, heavily obscured by a jagged scar. Hananiah must not have seen it, for he was the one who hired this particular guard, and simply hired the man judging by his fierceness and probably spending money that should have gone to another guard on getting drunk. She thought that whatever such a tattoo meant, it disturbed her to even think about what kind of past this man must have had.

"Well, it seems that so far we can trust him. He only speaks when spoken to and agrees well with orders. I'm not too sure about his attitude, he's always so affronted whenever I try to speak with him."

She sighed lightly.

"But I do feel safer with him here," she lied.

"That's good, I'm glad you think so. I knew he would be useful in a pinch, you see, because it's not always the ones who look dangerous that are, but it doesn't hurt to look so."

"I guess that makes sense. I'm going to try speaking to him again."

Without waiting for a reply from Hananiah (perhaps he had none), she briskly walked ahead to where the fierce-looking hireling was patrolling the forest road, just ahead of the two worn horses.

"Good afternoon," she said as pleasantly as possible, "how are you enjoying the weather?"

He turned to her and her blood froze solid as his grey eyes pierced right through her. His face was lumpy and his jaw protruded slightly to the left and outwards. The eyes were the worst, though. The grey was embedded icily into the whites, which were not diminished at all by the color. He seemed to be wide-eyed at everything, aware.

"Just fine," he said in monotone.

"That's good. I was just wondering how you were feeling and if you, uh, maybe... wanted an apple from our store?" She was taken aback by his ugly, expressionless, wide-eyed face and spoke clumsily.

"No."

With nothing else to say and a desire to retreat from her strange escort, Angela turned around and walked toward the wagon. Before she could hoist herself into the seat, the guard said:

"There's a stream ahead. The horses will be thirsty."

"Good idea," called back Hananiah, "I think we could all use some rest now, Gurn."

Gurn did not reply, but only stepped over a large root and continued to the stream without so much as a warning; a "damn, watch that" or even a glance backward. The wagon thumped over the root and five minutes later was parked near a wide but shallow stream, the horses drinking their fill of the clear, cool water. Marcellus jumped out the back of the wagon and pitched his apple core into the woods. The noise in the brush caused Hananiah to turn and say, "What was that?" He squinted into the brush and then walked to the side of the gentle brook.

* * *

He had been trudging through the woods for over an hour, but his sense of time was weak and the pain of the journey made it seem like days. The pain in his belly had grown worse, but the bleeding from his side, face and various other wounds had subsided. His feelings alternated between powerful anger towards those who had done this to him and great loss for the only family and friends he had ever known. The hot day made the journey twice as fatiguing, and the loss of fluid from both bleeding and sweating left him on the verge of total bodily shutdown.

The progression of afternoon to evening of the sweltering day had changed the hue of the woods from a sickly green to a cool blue. The temperature, however, remained just as unforgiving. He stumbled across an old road and reentered the undergrowth to be met moments later by a stream trickling it's way over the smooth rocks on the bed of the Ravine. He not so much stooped as fell into the cool water and gulped heartily of the fresh drink. He didn't care about the sting of the water in his wounds or the dirt and blood flowing downstream from his body, only that his thirst was quenched and he could rest. He was soon disturbed, however, by the sound of voices to his left.

Nolan looked up, dripping, from the stream and clutched his broken spear-end. In a tormented and injury-caused dementia, he murderously stumbled towards the noise.

* * *

The crew of religious missionaries and their estranged escort were perched at various points along the shallow brook, drinking their fill and splashing the cool water over their bodies to try and wash away the sweat and heat. Suddenly Gurn stood up and said, to nobody in particular:

"I'm scouting ahead. Wait till I get back."

Hananiah gurgled his approval through several handfulls of water that just couldn't seem to quench his thirst. None of them noticed Gurn exit in the wrong direction. He left in the direction from which they had come and not where they were going as he had said.

Not five minutes after the mercenary had left they were disturbed by a crash in the undergrowth. Marcellus, who was closest to the bushes, let out a squeak and backed up into Angela who, even in the heat, had still not peeled back her ceremonial hood. For reasons strange to her companions, she almost never removed the symbolic white hood from her head. The girls in the denomination were only expected to wear such a hood in certain ceremonies, but not at all times.

"Marcellus, what a-"

"Angela, I heard something in the woods! Where's Gurn?" He looked around wildly.

"He's gone, I'm sure it was just a rabbit."

As she turned away, ignoring Marcellus entirely, she heard a cracking and brushing of leaves in the bush. Marcellus squeaked again. She, too, now stood cautiously. Whatever it was sounded big and clumsy. Seconds later a boy of about her age emerged from the undergrowth and was he ever a frightening sight. He had a swollen, bruised face, cuts on his neck, shoulder and torso. His disheveled, sweat-drenched hair hung in his face and on his shoulders. He looked like he had been raised in the woods by an abusive sasquatch and what was worse was that he was armed.

Nolan stared hazily at the three before him. His vision was darkening and fading, but he could see their canonical wear and forms -two kids and a man. A fourth stepped out of the trees and halted abruptly, placing his hand on the sheathed weapon at his belt. _A mercenary!_ Thought Nolan, _and they`re all with the church. I`ll have to kill them all-_

He tried to step forward but fell unconscious to the ground. The four travellers stared, confused and stunned for a moment before Gurn stepped forward.

"Strange. I've never heard of a wild-man in these regions. Good thing for him he collapsed."

"He's not a wild-man, he was attacked, can't you see that? Would a wild-man be wearing clothes you stupid barbarian?"

Everyone was surprised by Angela's outburst and couldn't argue because she had already rushed to the back of the wagon. She emerged moments later holding a small jar with a lid screwed onto one end and some wax paper loosely fastened to the bottom. It seemed to be filled with a dense blue mist. She knelt down beside Nolan and, after unscrewing the lid, pressed the jar to his face, covering his mouth. Hananiah protested;

"Angela, that Healing Fog is for the people in the village! Why are you helping when you don't know if this boy was going to try and hurt us or not, and with an expensive item I may add."

"Well he won't be trying to hurt us after we help him like this. He's in very rough shape, if you can't tell."

She uncovered the wrapping on the bottom of the jar and air flowed through several holes in the bottom, drawing the powerful fog into Nolan's lungs. The vapor diffused directly into his blood from there and immediately travelled throughout his body, healing any wound. Angela watched as shards of glass were pushed from the wounds in his face and neck before closing like mouths. The bruises yellowed briefly before dissolving beneath the skin and he groaned in his sleep as something cracked in his abdomen.

"Now do you see what I mean? He had glass in his wounds, so he must have been attacked in some nearby house, like in the village..."

She trailed off and looked up from the boy she had saved, dreading what they would find in the hamlet which seemed so close now and infinitely more frightening.

Several hours later, it was well into the evening and the sun was beginning to sink into the western horizon. Nolan had been laid out on some dirty rags near the brook and an old roll of canvas supported his head. Angela had washed the remaining blood and dirt from his face, being careful not to wake him. He actually looked peaceful as he slept on the hard ground, much unlike the disheveled savage who had emerged from the forest hours before. When she walked to the river to rinse the cloth, his eyes slowly opened and gazed into the forest canopy.

_I'm alive? _he thought, _those people from the church didn't-?_

He quickly shot upright, searching left and right for his would-be captors when he realized his wounds had been healed. His stomach no longer hurt, he had been cleaned. He checked his cuts, all gone. His face had returned to normal, too, and with minimal scar tissue. He heard a slight gasp behind him and twisted around; a girl of his age -one of the kids he saw- was staring at him, clutching a moist cloth in her hand up to her face in surprise. He checked himself embarrassedly before turning back to the stranger.

"Did... you help me?"

She nodded and lowered the cloth slightly. She seemed to be surprised that he could even speak. _No wonder_, he thought, _with the condition I was in, I'm lucky to be alive_. She took a step towards him.

"You came out of the woods like someone gone mad... what happened to your village?"

_My village? She doesn't know **anything** about the farms being taken? I'll go along with this, but I must test her first..._

"Um, I was leaving there to visit my uncle on his farm south of here, but I don't remember what happened... do you know what's going on down there?"

She certainly seemed confused. "The farmers are... farming, I guess," she laughed nervously, "I don't know what to tell you."

She forced a smile, but he still noticed how pretty she was. He took this time to size her up; she had sandy brown hair -no, it was more of a dirty blonde- and wore a white ceremonial gown of the Soan Church; white with green strands lined with red filaments reaching down the middle and lining the hems on the sleeves and bottom. She seemed fit enough, the gown showed her figure to a surprising degree, but he did not allow his eyes to linger there.

"That's too bad," he began, "but thank you so much for helping me. I would have been maggot food if you hadn't found me."

"I was just doing what comes naturally. It's not like we could have just left you here to... besides, it was _you_ who found us, remember?"

She smiled genuinely this time. For a moment he sat there, smiling back and just looking at her. Then he rose from the ground only to be overcome with fatigue and sat down on a moss-covered log. She came and sat beside him, though at a distance. As they began to talk about the strangeness of such a day and even about themelves Gurn re-emerged from the growth, gripping a good-sized rabbit by its broad, floppy ears. He sat on the rags where Nolan had rested.

"Hey, why are you going to kill that poor thing? We have food in the wagon, and you're welcome to it." Angela was clearly against harming the wildlife.

"I enjoy hunting for my food, and I'm not causing any damage to the forest. Just keeping the natural order of predator to prey in check."

"Gurn, I overall find it offensive that you would kill that rabbit before us, you know we're religious and try to avoid unneccessary harm to living creatures, now would you please let it go?"

"I heard you telling that kid before to preserve our food for the people in that hovel nearby, if they're even still alive. For his sake, you don't want to go against your word do you?"

She noticed that Marcellus and Hananiah were still nearby, preparing their own supper.

"But-"

Gurn snapped the helpless creatures' neck before she could finish. The head lolloped at a strange angle as the body went limp. He began skinning it in front of them, forcing them all to turn away in revulsion. Even Nolan looked away, but not because he was disgusted -he had seen Dario do such a thing many times- but it was just that; the reminder of his friend treating the meats peacefully, although messily, who was now gone. It also reminded him of the pointless loss of life he had been experiencing all day, even now when he thought he had found comfort. He made a note to himself: _hurt_ Gurn before he was done here. Quickly recovering from her disgust, Angela turned to him and asked;

"What is your name, anyway?"

Nolan looked at the ground and thought about his own name. He had been told once that it meant "champion", but he was in no way such a thing. He had failed to protect the only family he would ever have, his friends, and even himself. Actions such as that don't warrant the title of champion. He spoke the truth to Angela.

"I had a name once, but it means nothing now."

She saw his pain immediately and, confused as she was, answered with equal quickness.

"Well, I'm Angela. You're coming with us back to your village, right 'No-name'?"

She smiled again. He absolutely could not resist that smile and felt bad for not answering her when she had just wanted to know the most basic of things about a person; a name. Something to refer to him by, and "No-name" would not do. As she got up and turned to eat with her companions, he remembered Fungai and his cruel reminder to Ryan of his past. He needed a reminder to _himself_ of his new goal for vengeance and his search for answers.

"Cross."

She stopped and turned around. "What was that?"

"Cross... you can scrape it on my gravestone... as it is my name."

No more words were spoken as he got up to meet her companions and join them for a meal. He still had some jerky, after all, and it was damn good.

* * *

**I am aware that this was a bit of a boring chapter, and short too, but it's still essential to the whole plot. I am very meticulous about my writing and would like to say that when I refer to "horses" or "rabbits" in this story I mean those little ground squirrels from the game with the big ears and the weird horses with feet as well. I just don't want to come up with names for them so I refer to them by their real-life counterparts.**

**Thanks to Shinshia101 and People Of The Black Waters for the reviews, your support has me thinking that this story _will_ be finished someday and it will be glorious!**

**Edit: I finally discovered that the chapter title didn't match up with the one in the doc, so I changed it. Sorry bout that.**


	3. The Rot

**Disclaimer:** Refer to chapter one for the disclaimer from now on.

**Legacy Of Dragoon**

**Chapter Three: The Rot**

They awoke the next day refreshed from an uneasy but immeasurably more comfortable sleep. After a brief cleanup, they set off eastward without a breakfast. The new day was hot and humid as the one before, but remnants of the cool morning twisted about mistily in the breeze which graced them occasionally. The trees, as innumerable and varied as they were, seemed to offer no respite from the powerful sunbeams of northwestern Izezuza.

Marcellus had paid no mind of the stranger who had arrived the previous evening, but immediately noticed when the man broke off a sturdy saproling of about his height at the side of the road. He curiously watched the newcomer stroll over to Gurn and ask in a friendly voice undeserving of the rough guard, "You got a knife?"

Gurn grunted and grudgingly unsheathed a blade at his hip and handed it to the stranger who thanked him and quickly began paring the bark from the saproling, revealing the smooth wood beneath.

"Excuse me, mister, but what are you doing with that tree?" anxiously asked the boy.

"Oh, nothing," the man replied absent-mindedly.

Marcellus accepted this reply as he thought it would be more entertaining to see what this small tree could possibly become at the hands of this strange new friend. They walked for a few more hours before Hananiah ordered them to stop.

"Angela, would you please fetch my staff from the back of the wagon, as well as my robe?" he said grimly. She silently obeyed.

"The maps say that soon there will be a turn-off from this path, to the left. We take that and should come upon the village soon afterwards. I don't expect you gentlemen to be ready for a fight, but be prepared nonetheless. Our cart may get rushed if they're desperate in there. Marcellus, Angela and myself will do our best to help... remember to look sharp, boy, where's your hat?"

His sudden turn startled Marcellus and sent him scampering off to the wagon to retreive his cap just as Angela arrived with the staff and robe. The robe was predictably more extravagant than hers, laced with gold thread and superbly designed. The staff was no more than a thick, tall, wooden walking stick with a gold orb situated on the top. Hananiah claimed this was a 'fruit' of the Divine Tree. Once they were prepared they set forward again. Marcellus noticed the stranger walk over to Gurn to return the knife. His wittling had been slow-going since he had been walking simultaneously, but his result was a sturdy, pointy and crude javelin. Angela saw this as well and approached him.

"Cross, what use are you going to have for that? Was there something wrong in your village when you left?"

Realizing his flaw and trying to think of a plausible response, his eyes rested on Gurn and he realized for the first time himself why he had made the weapon.

"I, uh, don't feel safe with only one armed person in the group. Doesn't this Gurn guy make you nervous?"

Remembering Gurn's acute hearing from the previous night, she leaned over to Cross and whispered, "You feel that way about him, too?"

Praising his own luck for striking a chord with her, he quickly replied, "Yeah, but... aren't you guys supposed to be travelling together?"

"To tell you the truth, I can't wait to get away from him," she confided in him - she had finally found someone to trust with her feelings about Gurn.

Soon afterwards they came to the fork in the road. One way- their current road -went straight before them and the other branched off to the northeast. They took this road and continued for about another hour. Finally, they came upon the dusty little village, situated in a huge, man-made clearing in the woods.

It was a nightmare.

The sun, just about to disappear behind a huge tree at the edge of the clearing, completely illuminated the horrific scene. Windows were smashed to shards, thatched roofs were collapsed in places and in foundations upon which houses once rested lay rotted, pasty puddles of wood. There were a handful of cadavers in the streets, and the bodies looked horrible. Some were draped over the frames of broken windows, like they had been trying to break their way in. Others simply lay in the streets, mostly naked, their flesh covered in lesions oozing a fluid with the color of blood that has no oxygen; the lack of red pigment made the liquid a dark purple.

Cross straightened immediately and muttered, "Let's get the f-"

"No, the church!" interrupted Hananiah, who had to grab Marcellus to keep him from running away.

"We have to make sure no-one is in the church! If there was a place that the survivors would go to, it would be the church!"

"Cross is right," growled Gurn, drawing his sword, "we are taking a chance. Don't want to wind up like them."

Angela shuddered as he said "them". Just the implication of the diseased bodies laying in the street made her queasy. She had been expecting to purify the sick, which would not have been a particularly sterile or enjoyable task, but nonetheless was nothing like having to stand within ten feet of a bloated, oozing corpse. The fluid seemed to seep from the lesions and sores openly, like they were still recently deceased...

"Come on," Hananiah bravely ordered. He had mustered up some charisma seemingly out of nothing, and Gurn followed him and the wagon without hesitation into the middle of the village. Cross and the other two stayed back for a moment.

"Angela, I don't want to go in there, don't let him make me go!" The child had remained coherent, but was clearly distressed immensely by their current situation.

"Hey, come on, we knew we'd have to deal with something like this some day, right? We aren't clerics just for lighting candles and serving meals in the seminary, are we?" She reassured him.

"No, I was ready to help people, but who can we help _here_?"

"We don't know yet if there is anyone to help, Marcellus, that's why we have to go in. Don't give up on us, okay? Soa won't give up on you, so don't you give up on us. The Creator will see us through this."

Cross was impressed. Her words, however evangelical, must have been true since she had calmed the hysterical child almost immediately. He knew he had to cast aside his own reluctance... for their sake.

"She's right, Marcellus," he gripped his spear in both hands, "stay close to me, both of you. I'll make sure nothing happens to you."

He confidently walked ahead of them and they fell in step close behind. Slowly, cautiously making their way down the road, treading upon ground which felt dead and cold as the nearby bodies. Angela came within ten feet of one and covered her face with her hood; the smell was the worst she had yet to encounter and the twisted face of the corpse was magnetic to her eyes - she hated looking but couldn't stop herself.

_Something is worse than wrong here_, thought Cross. _There is disease here, but it isn't like an epidemic._ He didn't know what he meant by that thought but he was right; they all felt it. There was an undercurrent to the air of death and disease to the village, an underlying veil of malice and control covering the ruined town.

"These corpses don't smell right at all," grumbled Gurn whose eyes were turned to the ground, "there is the usual decomposing smell, but something much worse in there, too."

The body of a man nearby made a sickening sliding, gurgling sound as purple fluid momentarily gushed from a wound, and Gurn snorted.

"Disgusting."

Hananiah and him rounded an intact building and entered a crossroads in the center of town with the church right in front of them. They both simultaneously turned to their left, then looked away. Gurn's eyes were darting from side to side and Hananiah was looking somberly at the ground, twitchingly bringing his hand to his brow. Cross approached them.

"What is it?"

When none of them answered he looked around the corner himself. A pile of misshapen, dripping bodies was piled two houses down from them. The smell was overwhelming, and every set of eyes he saw in the twisted mound was clouded over with purpled hemorrhages, the same color as the filthy discharge. Some corpses were so disfugured by the illness that the bodies had visibly changed shape beneath clothing, swollen with huge sores and lumps.

"Don't look over there!" He turned and pushed Angela and Marcellus away. They didn't bother trying to argue, they didn't even want to see what it could have been. He tried to speak to Hananiah, but the priest was focused on the ground.

"Hey! HEY! Get into the church... _hey, come on!_ Do it quickly so we can get out of here!"

The elder priests' expression remained blankly shocked and unsettled, but he was now fixated upon the door and slowly walking towards it, leaning well on his staff. He got ten paces from the door and slowly raised his hand, fingers outstretched to grasp the handle and shaking with fear. Cross was watching him intently until he saw movement just at the edge of the roof of the large church - it was the largest building in the village. He searched vigorously with his eyes but saw no source of the movement, when he looked to his right Gurn was searching for it, too.

"Did you see what that was?"

"It was a man."

"Somebody's up there?"

"Yes, but... it didn't move right. It was quick and... people don't move like _that_."

Cross was unsettled by the grizzled mercenary's reaction to their surroundings. He had expected Gurn to be reliable in this situation, nevermind his unlikability, but the disfigured and brutal guard was crumbling before his eyes. Cross suddenly knew -not felt- that they had made a mistake venturing further into the village and he called to Hananiah.

"Father! Nevermind the church," he felt himself becoming hysteric as he spoke, the words unhinging a door in his mind. "Let's get out of here right now."

The middle-aged clergyman turned to respond to the young farmer's call and stopped dead, his eyes widening to an impossible size. He pointed behind them and began to howl in terror. Reluctantly, Cross turned around to face what was at the end of the deserted street.

The mound of disease-ridden bodies was moving in every part at once. Disregarding rigor mortis, they climbed over each other, each dragging and scratching their way out of the decomposing mass, rising to their feet, and clambering forward. Each was covered in the symptomatic lesions, and each dripped purple ichor from their limbs, appendages and mouths. The only sounds they made were their foot(and hand)falls and the viscous, stinking fluid dripping, even flowing, onto the ground. Cross heard Marcellus then Angela begin to scream behind him before they were cut off by a vicious cackling. He turned to see a cloaked figure drifting on the air over the roof of the church.

He could see an unnaturally scrawny skeleton over which the tattered and ragged cloak draped, clad only in pants that stood out from the pale gray flesh because they were made from naturally pink skin. From the arms and shoulders of the cloak sharp segments of bleached bone protruded and charms -also bones and other, fleshier pieces- dangled from the hems of the black fabric. The figure himself had a unique rune carved into his chest which had scarred poorly in the pallid skin. His hands were bony and claw-like and the nails on his feet and fingers were untrimmed. His bald head was set with red, gleaming eyes and yellow teeth nearly falling out of a huge, laughing mouth. Cross knew something else stood out, but couldn't quite place it.

The travellers were too terrified to speak and were transfixed on this figure as the horde of zombies struggled towards them. He finally spoke in a high, erratic voice devoid of both sanity and empathy.

"Late arrivals. Come too late to stop the Rot. I made it, you know! I _made_ the Rot and look what it _made_ for me! It returns my favours, it's a good spell. A painful, quick and... savage death. Only the results are savage, though. Meaning what the sufferers will do to you. Not only can I watch them die and regress, but I can call them to dance the puppet-dance of death. I hold the strings! I can see them... moving..."

The cryptic and bizarre speech left them all flabbergasted long enough for "the sufferers" to fall upon them. The zombies that had risen from the street through which they had come all at once siezed Gurn and dragged him to the ground. He only kicked and groaned at first, but he started to whimper as they descended toward his pinned body and finally scream as his jaw was slowly ripped off. He died shortly after, but had felt the entire horrible, painful process before passing on. The airborne necromancer rippled in ecstacy as he drew strength from the final moment of life before Gurn died. Cross didn't see it happen, because as it did the wagon was attacked from all sides by undead villagers. He stood his ground and stabbed at a couple of them, spilling more vile fluid but not stopping them at all despite the gaping holes left by his spear. He was soon overcome by the smell and the idea of even touching the infected goo and stumbled back, gagging.

The horses screamed and one was thrown down before being dismembered. The other broke free and began to charge, but was scratched and bit by the ravenous undead and galloped halfway up the street before collapsing. The wagon groaned and finally caved in with a loud crash, sending up dust and splinters. Finished with the carriage, the rotting, walking undead turned to the only four left.

Cross flung himself up and ran for the two kids. Marcellus was clutching Angela and sobbing. "Get in the church! NOW, come on!!!"

He had lost all composure and gave them a shove as he yelled hysterically. They stumbled then ran towards Hananiah, who had turned and began banging on the doors to the holy sanctum. Cross turned to come face-to-face with a zombie, which reared back to spew on him and was struck down by a forceful swing from the makeshift spear. He knocked a few more back before turning to run for the steeple himself.

"The door's locked!" yelled Angela.

"That means there must be people in there, it _must_!" assured Hananiah.

"Gimme that!" Cross snatched the staff from Hananiah's hand and passed it to Angela. Then he pushed Marcellus against the door and used his and Angela's bodies to shield him. "Whatever you do, protect him until you can't! He needs us!"

She was crying now, but nodded when he shouted at her. He grabbed her arm hard and leaned in close. piercing her with his wild, serious hazel eyes to make sure she understood... and to get one last look.

"Here they come!"

He stepped forward and jabbed the first one in the forehead, causing it to fall limply backwards into the dirt. He gripped lower on the spear and swung it like a club at the next one, which split the fleshy and rotten head open, sending a broth that had once been brain matter flying through the already decrepid air. He swung the other way and another crumpled flaccidly under the force of a living body. He stopped to look up at the corpselike figure who had caused this and was now watching with apparent glee. He heard a wet groan to his right, bent his elbows and turned to do a quick jab with the butt of his weapon. But he was still too slow. He could see the dissolving zombie about to sink its teeth into his flesh when the pathetic thing was bashed aside. It stumbled but did not fall, and was then clobbered again by a frenzied Angela, who was shrieking as she beat the creature into re-death.

There was no time to stop and congradulate. They fought off the advancing horde but after a few minutes began to tire and were pushed against the church. From within, they suddenly heard a heavy sound, followed by a metallic _clang_!

"They're unlocking the door! They're letting us in!!"

"It's about damned time!"

They turned and pushed desperately on the massive wooden doors, but they still refused to move. They could hear the shuffling footsteps of the dead mass behind them, moving as one huge clump of rotting flesh. The outstretched fingers of the hungry undead brushed the trailing hairs on the backs of their heads just as the door finally openned and allowed them in, banging closed quickly after.

* * *

Inside the church was a handful of hungry, upset survivors led by the local priest. When the new arrivals stumbled in, wide-eyed and tense, they were met with about as much welcome as a leper to a sanitarium; the survivors glanced at them, then turned their heads away. They had lost all hope.

"Thank you for saving us, brother," began Hananiah, "but I have to say you could have made a little more haste."

The priest was understanding and replied, "I'm so sorry, father, but some soulless wretch outside has been screaming out there for every night since we locked ourselves in here. It has driven us all near to the edge of insanity. We thought you were maybe a trick, or..."

"Or what?" interjected Cross, "maybe the help that you sent for? They came because you _asked_!"

The priest seemed startled. "You don't look like you're from the enclave... in fact you don't act like it either."

"He's a friend, a travelling companion," explained Hananiah politely, "but he is right. A little more, uh, _detail_ would have been neccessary on your request letter to His Eminence the Bishop. We responded with the idea that this was an epidemic, not an infestation."

"I'm sorry about that, Father, but when we sent those requests it was no more than what we perceived as a strange illness. A few villagers had it, but it spread very quickly throughout this small place. First there were just bruise-like rashes on the skin, but those soon swelled to become blistering and very painful for those who had it. Of course, there were typical symptoms as well; vomiting, tiredness, coughing, and over-salivating. At one point their eyes just clouded over with purple fluid and they simply... died. When that began our friend outside appeared and started causing all kinds of trouble - he can affect those who are infected. Control them, hurt them... they're entirely in his power."

"Soa help us," gasped Hananiah, "it's miraculous that none of you in here have been infected..."

As he leaned around the lesser priest to look into the small crowd splayed out in the church, the priest stepped in front of him.

"Nobody has displayed the symptoms the whole four days we've been in here. You don't have to worry about that. I'd like to take the time to welcome you to Enfermo, one of only three... well two, now - villages within the Ravine. Thank you so much for coming, Father, even though-"

"Your thanks don't mean a damn thing," Cross interrupted, "It's only a matter of time before those things -all your families- get in here and finish us off."

"How could you say that?"

It was Angela. She was staring at him in disbelief, still clutching Marcellus close to her. He felt a pang in his heart at the sight, but continued.

"Well, I've been having a rough couple of days, okay? I'm kind-of fucking _losing_ it, actually! And don't you find it ironic how the very people you were supposed to help are out there, waiting to rip us apart? Call me pessimistic, but we're not about to get out of this, not without some serious... some serious..."

He lost his momentum as the pleading eyes of the hopeless villagers began to fall upon him, begging him to stop. They didn't need to hear this now, dying in their place of holy salvation while their friends and relatives roved about outside, hungry for their blood. He immediately regretted the comment about their families. He had lost a family the day before, and at that thought he saw on them the faces of his dead family - every one of them down to his father and a lump formed in his throat. He backed up into a wall and dropped to the floor.

Hanging his head, he sobbed, "I'm sorry. Oh my God I'm so sorry..." And finally had a total breakdown.

Angela and Marcellus went to him, and Hananiah resumed conversation with the priest, whose name was Martin. One of the villagers, weak with hunger, chest heaving with every laboured breath, reached behind his neck to scratch a growing purple rash on his back.

* * *

Within an hour Cross had recovered and apologized, and even Angela forgave him for what he had said to the survivors. She knew that he had been through some strange accident and had to be experiencing stress and possible trauma from whatever had happened. But one question nagged her mind...

"Cross? Why did the priest not recognize you when you first spoke to him? Aren't you from this village?"

He glanced at her and the expression on her face told him that he had screwed up. _You idiot_, he thought to himself, _you didn't think that nobody here would recognize you, did ya? Now you've gone and lied __and somebody who should trust you won't anymore_. He decided to tell her the truth, or at least half of it.

"No, I'm not from this place, this Enfermo. I wasn't just visiting a farm, I'm _from_ a farm. I just needed your help and I thought that if I told you, you would just send me back. There's something I need to know, and being on that farm won't give me any answers."

He congradulated himself for concocting a response that implied so much and hated himself for covering a lie with another lie. Dario had once said, when he had chopped a steak wrong and tried to chop it again to save the cut, "No, idiot! Two wrongs don't make things right, you just got to start over, okay?" He hoped he would be able to start over with Angela, he liked her and wanted to save her from whatever the Church of Soa would subject her to; particularly the likes of Fungai. Maybe he could even use her to find out about what happened...

_**Use** her?_ a voice in his mind screamed, _did you just entertain the thought of **using** this poor girl for your silly revenge scheme? What is your scheme, anyway? Gonna beat up every priest in Izezuza to find some mercenary? Good luck with that._

The voice, or maybe Cross' reason, knocked brutal truth into him, but as he listened to the voice he ignored what Angela had said to him, so he rubbed his eyes and said wearily, "Sorry, pardon me?"

"I said it's okay that you lied earlier, Cross, but we'd have helped you if you told us that anyway. We're with a church, remember? We help the people of Endiness. Just don't lie from now on if you want my help, alright?"

He nodded gravely as he thought, _fucked that one up already, didn't you, stupid? _Then he cleared his mind and began to think of a way to save them from this place.

"Father Martin?"

"Yes?" The deacon was apprehensive after the young man's earlier outburst.

"You said that the necromancer outside controls the disease, right?"

"I couldn't be more sure. He even told me himself... swooping in here like a bat. He terrifies me, young man. He is capable of things better left to the archaic abyss of time."

"Well if I just squeeze out there really fast and run for cover, do you think I could hit him with this javelin?" He gestured to the stick, stained with the tainted blood of the sufferers. "If we stop the controller, the controlled should simply... die, right?"

"I'm sure if you ended the life of that miserable thing out there you would stop the disease from consuming us, my boy, but I'm afraid you've got little chance of survival out there. Besides, you've only got one spear. The odds are stacked too high against you, son, it would be a wasted death."

"Are all those people outside wasted deaths? Puppets of a twisted fiend with no purpose or morality? I'd like to think it's worth a chance, for the sake of these people."

He gazed around the room. The four clerics stared at him, pleading him not to go, and the villagers remained slumped in the pews, wasting away. He saw that what he didn't even have a chance to do for his family he could now do for them, or at least try.

"Mister, _please_ don't go out there," begged Marcellus, "I don't want to think about what's going to happen to you. Mister Gurn screamed real bad when they got him. I don't want that to happen to anybody else."

"I have to _try_, kid, and who knows? Maybe I'll make it back in, whether I get that horrible man out there or not."

As they argued over his desperate solution to their problem, one of the exhausted survivors lurched up and stumbled into the wing of the church, where nobody else was or could see him. He was scratching his back weakly but with all the ferocity he could muster. The itch was becoming a sharp pain and his eyes were slowly clouding over with sickly purple blood. The skin on his back began to stretch and pulsate over the rash, like a fetus struggling in a misplaced womb. Abruptly the skin split and a chunky, syrupy river of the disgusting Rot poured out as he crumpled to the floor.

Everyone else heard the sickening sound of the filthy mess slapping the ground and the heavy body soon afterwards. In the wing, the messy froth began to bubble and slowly resolve itself. It consumed the bones of its victim and formed upon them a sloppy form that not so much stood as flowed upwards into a humanoid shape. The creature levitated off of the ground and menacingly drifted out into the pews, where screaming, terrified villagers clambered away with what little strength was left in them. A horrible tearing noise signalled the opening of a dripping orifice in the 'face' of the homunculus.

From the mouth came the terribly unmistakable voice of the necromancer. "See what my Rot can do? It got me inside of your crumbling holy fortress. The only building to be made from stone, the Rot couldn't find its way through... except for one wretched soul. Lacked decency to reveal his Rot festering inside, and now it's the end for you!"

The foul golem laughed, the horrible cackle of its' master enhanced by a gurgling sound bubbling up from the shapeless throat. It hovered down to the terrified survivors, outstretching its arms to consume them with its own disease. Without hesitation Cross leapt over a bench and full-out swung his javelin at the homunculus, but the shaft only stuck in the thick mass of Rot without doing any damage. It turned without noticing the blow and reached out to cover him in rotting glop so he backed away, releasing the spear, only to have the arm stretch and continue to reach slowly for his face. He dropped to the ground and kicked his spear hard, but it only slid out the back of the creature. It tried to fall on him, consuming him completely, but he rolled to the side and ran to reach the spear.

The blob levitated again and reformed its humanoid shape just as Cross found his spear completely covered in Rot and dissolving into a puddle on the floor. He rounded on the approaching abomination.

"You try too hard, human. Soon you will only decompose and become part of what you see before you. If you want to make it hard, I shall indulge you."

When the mouth had opened to gurgle at him, Cross noticed a blue gleam at the back of the throat in the shape of an elaborate glyph and knew right away that it was the source of control, which the necromancer manipulated from outside. But how was he going to reach it without the spear...

The creature suddenly lost its shape and lunged for him through the air. He only rolled out of the way just in time, but looked down at his shirt and saw the material darkening. The blob of tissue on the floor produced a menacing, victorius laugh. Cross quickly tore his shirt down the front and let it slip onto the floor as it too became a puddle on the floor. His flesh had remained untouched. The laughing ceased and fleshy sinews spread from the pile of Rot towards him, so he ran to the other side of the church. He heard a strange sucking noise followed by a _splat_ and jumped as a chunk of bone split a bench near him and embedded itself into the wall, barely missing him. Unfortunately, splinters from the bench flew out and a large one stuck in his side. He hissed with pain and knelt on a nearby table. The triumphant laughter resumed.

"You've been stuck, boy, and now you'll be split, chopped... _devoured_. I'll savour the taste."

It was so consumed with its victory over Cross that as it slowly descended Angela ran to a nearby basin of Soa water, blessed by the Creator Himself, and hurled a jug of the pure water at the homunculus. The jug shattered and as the pieces hit the floor the gory monster began to howl. The holy water was sizzling on its tissue, producing steam and causing the creature to bubble messily. It fell to the ground, roiling and twisting upon itself like a mass of fleshy snakes. Hananiah and Martin took action and tipped the nearby bench onto the miserable thing, pinning it down and leaving only the howling head revealed.

The sounds of the monsters' demise driving him insane, fear driving strength into him, Cross threw his arms around another bench and tipped the long seat into the air vertically, the ends pointing to the roof and floor. He stumbled over to the fleshy mass on the ground and pounded the end of the bench into it, mashing it into a pulpy puddle. He lifted and dropped the seat again and the wood cracked all the way from top to bottom, the split halves falling away and crashing loudly to the floor. The remnants of Rot beneath were already steaming up in a purple cloud, and the glyph within faded, died. They had won.

"I've yet to see anything like _that_ before, but that little blue light was a Wingly spell glyph. I'll never forget those distinct Wingly characters," said Hananiah, who like everyone else still stared at the floor.

_A_ _Wingly, that`s what it was! _Something clicked in Cross` head and he reprimanded himself for not remembering the shining wings attached to the necromancers`back when he had been outside.

"But Winglies are peaceful people now, why would one attack an isolated village like this?" questioned Angela, who remembered the faces of the little girls in Lohan, playing about in the wind on their glimmering wings.

"That doesn't reduce what they're capable of, Angela, and it certainly doesn't eliminate the possibility of one harboring a grudge or simply developing a taste for blood."

"Well that settles it, there's no hope for us, Winglies are almost better than us in every way! We'll never make it out of here with one of them out there!" It was Martin now who doubted their chances of survival.

"I have a feeling," spoke Cross calmly, "that we still hurt him even though we just destroyed an apparition... I'm going outside."

"No! You just saw what he's really capable of and now you want to go out there? Did seeing that drive you mad?" Hananiah protested.

"Looking at the two of us right now, Father, you're the more unsettled. You feel fear, yet I don't. I'm not the one asking you to go out, I'm going myself, so stay here then... but I'm telling you it's safe out there now."

At that he strode over to the wooden doors but Angela stepped in front of him. He looked down at her, into her nervous eyes and his expression said 'don't get in my way because you're the only one who can stop me.'

But she only said, "I'm going with you."

He blinked surprisedly and opened his mouth, then just nodded. Together they pushed the door open and stepped outside. The sky was still bright in the late afternoon despite the sun's retreat behind the trees surrounding the clearing. The air of the town remained fetid and still, but neither a body nor a wingly was to be seen anywhere. They stepped in front of the church and walked around it, checking the roof for an ambush. The place was deserted, safe, and the bodies of the suffering had been evacuated for whatever purpose the fiendish mage had planned for them. Staring at a tattered scrap of black garment hanging from one of the church spires, Cross unkowingly stepped on another glyph and the voice of the necromancer resounded forth, like he was standing right beside them.

"You've given my head pains worth your torture. I will take my Rot now, for the sufferers are mine. Should we meet again, boy... you will join them."

"I don't want time to rest, Angela. We need to leave before the air here sends me into misery. I can feel what happened here and can't stand to think about-"

"I understand, I feel the same way," she stopped him before he could get carried away, "I'm going to get some things from the cart. Get the others ready."

He went into the church and soon afterwards had emerged with the survivors who cringed at the sting of sunlight in their eyes and quivered at the sight of their ruined home. Cross informed Hananiah that they intended to leave as soon as possible, and the shaken priest whole-heartedly agreed. Martin told them that the intention of the villagers was to gather what they needed and follow suit. Angela arrived with two shoulder-strapped leather bags filled with whatever undamaged supplies she could find and handed one to Marcellus, who struggled to carry the large bag but didn't protest. He had hid for most of the encounter in the church, and much to his benefit - he was disturbed enough from the hideous battle in the streets.

Before long the band of travellers had departed from the ruined and barren hamlet, unknowing of the fact that none of the villagers would make it out of the Ravine.

* * *

**Returning once again to the dark stuff. It's a bit longer than the last two since I was delayed in making it. I've been doing so many bullshit papers for school lately I'm hardly finding the time to JUST WRITE. I really couldn't enjoy writing this chapter, for some reason I kept doubting the consistency of the writing, but I'm neutral on the end result.**

**Please R&R!**


	4. Burn The Ground

**Disclaimer: **Don't sue me, SCEA, I didn't say I had the rights to this game!

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Four: Burn the Ground**

They had already walked for several hours without so much as a cursory glance backward, their flight from Enfermo had been as abrupt, rushed and welcome as possible. Cross was trudging heavily down the path, staring blankly at the ground before him. He finally noticed the end of a splinter sticking out of his side, just under the ribcage and winced as he removed it, then groaned slightly at the length of the piece and cast it to the ground, completely indifferent. He had been desperate to arm himself and, without a thought, had retrieved Gurn's curved sword from amongst the dust - the mercenary's body was among the missing.

The pool from the previous evening came into view and they decided to rest there once again. Angela offered a healing potion to Cross since he looked completely exhausted, but he said, "No... no, don't waste it on me. I don't need one yet. It's just... the last twenty-four hours have caught up with me, you know?"

She didn't. He chuckled weakly at her facial expression. He also kept glancing to the south like a deer when it smells a predator.

"I'm worried about you. I think we should rest here again tonight."

"No! I can keep going, so can all of you. we just need to keep going until sundown... and get as far away from..."

He trailed off. She thought he had meant Enfermo, but was only so far from the truth.

"I don't really want to-"

"No, trust me, you do. We have to keep going."

There was a hint of fear in his eyes, but they were mostly desperate, pleading her to keep going. She figured he must have been a lot more scared than he had acted in that village, but the exhaustion was making it worse. She saw Hananiah trying not to doze off and when he noticed her looking he widened his eyes and nodded; he would continue. Marcellus sat nearby with his legs splayed out and his shoulders hunched, staring at the ground.

"Alright, just give me a few minutes," she stood up and approached the little boy. He hadn't spoken since they had first entered Enfermo.

"You okay?" She asked in her gentle voice.

He sniffled, "No."

"We just need to go a bit further and then you can rest, alright? It's all over now."

"If I go to sleep, I'll have nightmares," he sobbed, "I'll hear people screaming again, and that witch doctor will come and get me, and I''ll turn all purple and die just like _them_..."

He started to cry harder. Angela placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder and squeezed a bit. It was hard to figure out what to say. She couldn't promise him that there would be no nightmares about wingly death wizards or screaming - she was probably going to have them, too.

"Look, I... please stop, Marcellus. All those things are gone. If you have a bad dream, you can always wake up, but what happened back there is over. Just try to think about home... please? We're on our way home now, and you'll be safe there."

It wasn't helping much. The young boy's sobs wouldn't dissipate and he, too, seemed too tired to continue. She looked over her shoulder at Cross, who was still staring wildly at the trees across the path, the slope out of which they grew and possibly further. He was afraid of something in that direction or in those woods and it was unsettling for her.

"You want to keep going? Look at him! He really needs to-"

"What?!" he whipped around, wide-eyed. "Sorry, I was off somewhere else... I'll make a fire. We need to eat and rest more, clearly."

He cast a dissappointed glare to Hananiah, who had finally nodded off in a sitting position on a nearby rock. Within minutes they were boiling water for some vegetables - the few potatoes that had made it out of the ruins of the wagon. It was a bland meal and they were full quickly. The distraction of the food and tiredness had ended Marcellus' weeping, but the older priest was no more awake than a bear in winter.

"It'll be dark in a couple of hours. I want to walk for one more. _One_. We'll stay here for just a bit longer."

As Cross said this he was holding Gurn's blade in the fire, watching it turn bright orange. He decided that since it had a new owner it needed a new shape to keep it from missing its old master. At least that's what he told Marcellus as he turned the blade in the open flames. Eventually he held it on a rock and with another boulder began smashing the heated area. After a few more trips to the fire the hilt clanged to the rocks with half of a blade still attached. He reached for his shirt and realized he had none (_**that's**__ why it's so cold) _so he flipped the smoldering metal into the stream with a stick and watched it sizzle for a bit before he was able to withdraw it.

He found a stick sturdier than the previous one and once again shaved off all of the bark, though quicker this time, and set to work making a split at the tip, down the middle. He wanted to make sure that the shaft wouldn't split right in two because he only wanted a notch in one end. Once that task was complete he fit the blade (which he had been using to carve the shaft) into the notch and secured it with a length of rope. The new spear was still crude, but much more secure and reliable.

"Now we're going," he looked up and noticed Marcellus and Angela had been watching the whole time, fascinated.

"Mister Cross, you sure have a lot of engine, no... inja... injo..."

"Ingenuity," interjected Angela.

"Yah, what she said, you're ingenuous!"

He smiled slyly and replied, "It's for keeping the bad dreams away. Let's go."

They all stood except for Hananiah, who had snoozed through the whole thing. Cross slapped him across the nose and he immediately, stood, snorting and darting his head about.

"We're going for a short walk, come on."

"Uh, right, erm..."

Wearily, they set off once again down the earthen path of the Ravine. Not a sound was to be heard in the woods as the evening crept ever so slowly accross the overgrown slice in the earth. There was no more buzz of insects, no more chatter of birds and even the trees seemed to have halted in their swaying and rustling, waiting for something. _Why the hell is it so quiet? _thought Cross to himself, _please tell me that Rot hasn't gotten to the wildlife now. Or is there something else that could possibly make my life any more difficult to live right now?!_ He frowned at his own bad luck.

They lost track of time and simply walked mindlessly for what could have been hours when Hananiah looked up and sniffed the air. Rubbing his hand on his dirt-stained preistly robe, he asked, "What's that smell? It's so strong and...musky."

"Musky? What the hell do you mean 'musky?'" scoffed Cross, turning his head quickly and flinging his long hair over his eyes which were red with impatience.

"There's other smells in there, too. It's like the musky smell of a body but... smoky, too."

"You ought to wipe under your nose, reverend. I think you may have stuck your face in something foul and it stayed for the ride."

Marcellus giggled at this sign of disrespect to the commanding priest. The elder cleric shot a savage glance at the child before turning his head and wiping his lip with a clean portion of his stole. They continued for a bit before a wisp of what they at first mistook to be mist drifted accross the path. Then the rest of them inhaled the scent of what Cross thought of as sweat, shit and fire. _Fire? Oh... that's what he meant by smoky_. They only walked a little further and then a whole cloud of the stinking soot was drifting accross the path from their left and the smell stung their nostrils worse than curry powder.

"Hold on," commanded Hananiah, "it might be a flash fire. We'll be surrounded in flames within seconds if we continue."

"Well what do you suppose we do?" retorted Cross. He gestured to the path ahead. "That's the safest way to go. If we head back the fire will reach us anyway, and if we climb up the side of the ravine," he pointed to their right with his spear, "we'll be suffocated by the heat and smoke."

"I think Hananiah is right," said Angela, "we should head back-"

"There's no way I'm going back there. I'd sooner walk into Mayfil than go back there!"

"Try to be reasonable, son. For all we know we'll be walking into a wall of flame if we continue," Hananiah calmly assured him.

"Don't ever call me 'son', again," Cross snarled as he rounded on the priest. He was exhausted and had reached the end of his rope.

"I have- _had_ a father, and you aren't him! I only ever called you father out of respect," he waved his arm behind him, at Angela and Marcellus, "for them! Not you."

He had taken on the same wild and firghtening appearance he had the previous day, when he emerged from the woods completely blood-drunk. His bangs hung before eyes that pierced like daggers and burned like whatever fueled the smoke which hung in the air around them. The priest remained silent, his mouth agape. Before anyone else could speak the young farmer had turned and strode into the smoky haze. Before he could disappear completely into the smog, Angela, then Marcellus and finally Hananiah dashed after him. Soon all four of them were overcome by the smoke and began to cough and gag, finally coming to a stop.

"Over here... this way - I see a path!" Cross called to them and turned to find them all immediately behind him.

"Oh, well come on-" He pushed them onto a path which branched to the left. They had become completely disoriented and had no idea they were headed straight into the fields... and the fire.

Cross rushed them up a steep incline and soon they reached a pocket of fresh air in a small clearing of slate surrounded by chestnut and bertholesia trees. The slope at which they were travelling became apparent; they were obviously in a steeper part of the Ravine. They took shelter under a rock overhang, panting and taking in the precious clean air.

"Okay... okay..." gasped Cross, "I think I know... where we are. If we take this path we should -gah!- we should be out of the Ravine after a hard sprint."

"I don't think we, I don't-" choked Angela.

"We can't go back! If the forest is burning then we need to get to higher ground or you'll have your choice between choking and burning to death."

"But-"

"He's right," Hananiah pointed out, "we have no choice now. we have to keep going... up. Marcellus will have an easier time... since he's shorter... won't be breathing so much smoke."

The priest was barely wheezing out his words and was patting his upper chest with his open palm as he coughed. He spat soot, then reached his fingers over his collarbones and back down again. There was no more arguing as they all breathed deeply.

"Everyone ready now?" Cross looked at them worriedly, but all except Angela nodded approval.

"Then let's go."

He led the way around the overhanging gray cliff and over a steep hill intertwined with roots. He stumbled once at the top and raised himself back up into a layer of smoke, inhaling a huge gulp of soot and carbon dioxide and immediately started coughing again. Checking that everyone was still following -he could see all but Hananiah but didn't care- he dashed up the slope. Weaving through trees that materialized out of the smoke, his body screaming at him for not running faster (_they won`t be able to keep up if I do!_) and tripping over numerous rocks and roots, he struggled to burst out of the suffocating cloud and into the rejuvinating air.

Completely losing his sense of time and direction, Cross suddenly plunged into a wide area of forest that was at last entirely clear of the smoke and realized he had been running sidelong to the hill -not up it. He fell to his knees, steadily gasping and hawking up black soot from his throat. He heard two more people stepping over the ground behind him and some time later a third treading heavily upon the ground.

When at last he was able to speak again, he said "Too much smoke down there. Smoke is supposed to go _up_ - we should have been safe down there."

Angela was able to choke out, "the forest was definitely on fire. It's a good thing we got out of there."

"We're not safe yet. Let's get clear of these trees and see if we can see what's going on."

They all agreed and slowly began trudging towards the fields above. The going was slow, but eventually they reached a high embankment and could see the bush becoming thinner before them. When they broke through the line of trees, what they saw mortified them.

There were huge piles of crops and livestock dotting the field -and they were all burning. They could make out the shapes of cows, goats, every other form of cultivated beast... and even human remains amidst the burning flames. The clouds of black smoke drifted to the northeast and some of it joined with what was rising from a small blaze at the edge of the Ravine about a half-mile west of where they were situated. Realizing why the smell had been so terrible and receiving a potent waft of the vapors caused all but Cross to turn away and be sick. He stared accross the expansive plain, tears running down from his stinging eyes, a look of utter horror plastered to his face. _They burned it all_, he thought, _they didn't even want anything but to burn it_.

He was overcome by an overwhelming sense of grief and fell once again to his knees, palms up and out before him. All he could think or say was "why?" He couldn't know for sure if the ranch upon which he gazed was his own, but he knew that every single one sanctioned for seizure by the Church had met the same end. The implication stunned him. He had seen the long list of names scrawled on the parchment stamped with the very church-emblem itself.

He heard a voice behind him; "What do we do now? This is horrible."

"We, we," muttered Cross, "we go accross the field. We have nowhere else to go." This was a lie. He wanted to know if this was really his home smoldering before his eyes, the fruits of his labour and his loved ones alike burning away to nothing but the black smoke that clouded the fading sky.

"What? That's ridiculous. We already followed you and it almost got us killed," retorted Hananiah, who was clearly angered, "we should follow the Ravine in the direction we came from, and then maybe we can find our way to Seles or Indels Castle. Damn! I wish I had a map!"

He uncharacteristically hurled his cap from his crown to the ground, inhaled sharply and stooped to pick it back up, obviously ashamed of the minor outburst.

"Whoever did this could still be around anyway," he axclaimed, squinting around, "who do you suppose did, anyway?"

This question was directed at Angela, who was simply too stunned to answer back, but Cross turned, still on his knees, and began to shout.

"You want to know who did this!? It was _you_, and you and you!" He pointed to each of them in turn, and the three clerics were so flabbergasted they could only flinch and blink as his finger jutted furiously at each of them. "You people are all the same, you need someone to blame for everything, but you're too afraid to point the finger at yourselves! It was the Church that did this! They sent their mercenaries to come here and claim all of this for... I don't even know! To do _this_! Burn it all for nothing! Tell me... tell me why you really came here! WHY DID YOU COME HERE!?"

He stood and seized Angela by her shoulders, but she pushed him away and looked at the ground. Her face was one of total despondency, with a curtain of cofusion cast over it. The emblazoned young man strode over to Hananiah, who was equally confused and angry over the heretical accusation.

"The Church of Soa would have no part in this slaughter. You're gravely mistaken if you think-"

He was shoved hard to the ground and looked up into an enraged visage, teeth clenched and eyes watering.

"What is it that you're not telling me? What the _hell_ do you have to hide?! I saw the forms, the mercenaries, the _killing_... all of this was sanctioned by your damn church! And I know that you, Hananiah, know why they did it, so tell me!!"

He made a move to strike or perhaps grab the priest and felt a couple of blows to his middle back. He turned to find Marcellus attacking him in a grief-stricken frenzy.

"Leave him alone! Why are you hurting him like that, Cross? I'm tired of people getting hurt," he was yelling, but before he could wind up for another strike he was grasped hard by both shoulders and lifted into the air.

"You don't believe me, Marcellus? One of those mercenaries was with you, that bastard Gurn. He looked like a real fitting escort for a helpless crew of missionaries like you, didn't he? I'll bet you felt real safe with him around!" He shook the child, and Angela knew he had lost total control.

Without a second thought she took a few steps behind Cross and cracked him accross the side of the head with the priest's staff. He dropped Marcellus and stumbled to the ground, trying to regain his balance while bringing his other hand to his temple, the site of a new gash. He wiped the blood from his eye and began to curse.

"We don't know anything about this Cross! And if you don't get a grip and show some restraint, you're going to be on your own from now on."

Silenced by this, he leaned forward like he would to put his forehead to the ground and spat, watching the blood droplets from his head as they hit the earth. She had remembered him telling her that he lived on one of these farms, and had just revealed that he watched whatever terrible massacre had led to the pyre in the fields. She pitied him, but saw no reason in his actions or blaming the Church, of which she was a part. He didn't have any right to begin blaming them for something they had no knowledge of, something which he had hidden from them, maybe because...

"Did you... not tell us about what happened earlier because you were afraid of us?" She asked the crumpled figure in the dirt.

"...yes," he moaned, "If you knew I was from a farm, you were going to finish what those mercenaries came to do."

"You're convinced that the Church sent them to do this, aren't you?"

He struggled to swallow, then nodded.

"Cross, we would never have a part in something like this," assured Hananiah, who had suddenly regained his composure, "please believe us, the Church couldn't possibly have commissioned such a thing. And we had no knowledge of this until now."

Cross was startled by a wave of trust that overtook him at that moment. He believed what they were telling him, and it wasn't just that they were trying to reason with him; he felt it in his guts that they could be trusted.

"You... really didn't know?" he asked, turning onto his side. They all nodded.

Strengthened with a new feeling of confidence, he stood.

"I believe you. But only that you didn't know. And I'm sorry. If you come with me into the field, can I find something... anything that will prove to you that the mercenaries _claim_ to be under church orders?"

They were too tired to argue any further, so after a brief rest they set off down the side of the hill and into the field. Cross knew that no hills were on his old ranch, and was thankful that they weren't there -he didn't know if he would be able to stomach it. The hillside stretched down from the edge of the forest into a series of pools from which grew the shoots of the imfamous kilnin barley, which fermented into a powerful, spicy liquer. At the base of the hill they were met by a festering pile of livestock, glossy eyes staring out through fire and melting flesh to pierce the hearts of the wary travellers. Staying well clear of the pyre, they walked towards the center of the field.

In a clear area of the field where only dry, dead wheat lay at their feet, Angela caught stride with Cross.

"Why is it that you're so moody? It seems every time we turn around you're raving about something that's just managed to set you off."

"I watched my family die yesterday, did you get that part? If you didn't, they were tortured first. It's still fresh in my mind, like these burning mounds. And it's burning my mind-"

"You feel like you're alone because of that?"

"I never said I felt alone-"

"Well you're acting like a child. Like none of us understand what that kind of pain is like, and that only you ever will. You're shutting us out, Cross, and right now we're all that you've got."

"Maybe I am the only one who understands! Listen to yourself, you're telling me I'm acting immature when I've had the worst two days of my life happen just like that! My family's de-"

"There you go again, going back to your family. You're not understanding. It's okay to feel what you're feeling, but not to act like you have been. You're not alone."

He suddenly understood what she was implying by saying that he 'wasn't alone' and the realisation caused him to stop and stare at her, mouth agape. He wanted to say he was sorry, but-

"Hey! Look at this!"

It was Hananiah, who had straggled a good distance behind to dig something up out of the baked earth. Marcellus was beside him, assisting in uncovering whatever artefact they had stumbled upon. He drew up the edge of a tattered, dirt-encrusted piece of cloth which had once been a pure white in colour. As Hananiah lifted the rest of the flag from the dust, he shook off a good deal of caked-on dirt and the green insignia of the Divine Tree became plainly visible, the intertwining fibers arching out from a sturdy trunk to form the bizarre caricature of what they had all originated from. The priest stared at this image, then looked up at Angela. His eyes were wide with complete disbelief. Marcellus looked utterly perplexed.

Cross felt it first, a sudden change in the wind followed by a gust of sweltering air. Before he could think to close the distance between himself, Angela and the other two, a wall of fire erupted from his right. The searing flames immediately torched the dry wheat covering the ground, forming an impenetrable blazing wall between the two parties.

"No! Marcellus!" Angela screamed, running straight for the inferno.

"STOP! Stop it, don't go!" cried Cross as he flung his arms around her midsection and held her back. "They'll be fine -we can't get through to them anyway. Listen to me! SHUTUP!"

She stopped screaming and turned to him, her face distraught and fearful. He removed a hand from her and pointed straight down.

"This stuff right under us will go up any second. We have got to get out of here, and fast."

She nodded and without another word they started running in the opposite direction of the fiery barricade. All that was ahead of them was more flames, but around another pile of wasted livestock they saw a path and took it. To their left was more fire, to the right, a razed barn sending black smoke and small flocks of embers into the sky. Still running, they changed direction and started heading towards the far end of the barn.

"Do you know which way's which anymore?" Cross panted.

Angela only closed her eyes and shook her head. She was sweating and struggling to continue.

"Did you say that you had someone waiting for you in Lohan?"

"...yes."

"That's where we should go, then. We'll probably find Marcellus and Hananiah there-"

_If we make it out of here alive_, his mind argued. He realized that if they were struggling so badly, the other two couldn't be doing much better. He also realized that this was all his fault; _he_ had wanted them to keep going, _he_ had taken them through the forest, _he _had brought them accross the field. And for what? _To prove something to yourself, _he reminded himself, _not only that you could survive, but that others could not_. That bleak point brought him to a walk, and he eventually stopped completely to lean on his spear and pant. Angela stopped without protest, and together they rested speechlessly.

Cross, drowning in his own self-depracating thoughts, turned to her and once again said, "I'm sorry. This was all my fault."

They both paused for a moment, then she nodded and began to speak, but her voice was cut off by shouting nearby. Startled, they both looked behind them to the opposite side of the barn which had been out of view once they had reached the far end. Hard at work were about five of the bedraggled, heavily armed mercenaries chopping up human bodies and hauling the pieces into the gigantic blaze consuming the barn. They hadn't noticed Cross and Angela, but were only shouting amongst themselves. However, at the sight of the holocaust Angela began to scream like she hadn't even done back in Enfermo. This was a scream of recognition at the sight of something reminiscent of whatever traumatizing event had been buried deep in her memories.

All at once the band of cleaners turned to face the tired young man and woman. One of them pointed, gestured to two of the other soldiers and began running towards them.

"Shit! We got to go, come on," yelled Cross in a panic as he seized the still-screaming Angela by the arm and began running down the side of another hill and towards another wall of fire.

He ran as fast as he could adjacent to the flames before an opening appeared, so he took his chance and leaped through the small gap in the fire. He felt the resistance as Angela hesitated to jump and was then pulled by the force of his jump through the suffocating heat, just barely escaping the grasping fingers of the inferno. They stopped and Cross glanced back just as the opening was consumed once again by the fire. He heard the voices of the pursuing body-disposers:

"Where'd they go?"

"Don't tell me they got on the other side of _this_?"

"Dammit, those are the only ones who got away, man! We're going to be on cleanup for months because of this!"

"Do we even have to report it?"

"Well, _someone's_ going to have to, because if a search party doesn't find them then we're all going to be fucked, then, aren't we? If they tell anyone about our orders from the Church, it's farewell to our gold and farewell to our lives!"

The arguing continued until there was a massive _woosh!_ or a swooping sound like a great bird soaring close overhead, followed by a sizzling, then a burning roar and a scream.

"Holy shit! What the hell is that thing?"

The same confused voice soon resolved to a high-pitched scream that ended in a wet crunch, or what Cross perceived to be one over the roar of the flames. There was a pause for a moment, then the body of one of the mercenaries was flung through the blaze, flew twenty feet and crashed to the ground, limbs flailing wildly. Cross turned back to the tall flames and was entirely awestruck by a pair of flourescent green wings that unfurled before him, finally snapping completely open and sending a flurry of green embers trailing off of their tips. The creature was just floating at the edge of the fiery wall, veiled by fire and set against a curtain of smoke. All that was visible were the glowing green wings, which quickly fluttered and sent the thing charging off into the sky, leaving a trail of the green embers and a gust of wind which twisted the fire and caused the smoke to undulate widly.

Cross and Angela stood in total awe, staring at the empty air where the furious winged thing had hovered. Cross couldn't determine if he should dismiss this as a hallucination; a figment of his imagination brought on by heat exhaustion and whatever form of insanity he had aquired in the past two days. But when he turned to Angela she was staring at the same space of air, and beyond her the mangled body of one of their attackers lay smoking in the dirt. However, Angela didn't look so shocked because of the mystical spectacle that had just unfolded before them...

"Did you just see that thing?"

She didn't respond.

"Angela? You saw it too, didn't you? I feel like I should know what it was, but all I could sense when I saw it was this... reverence. I wasn't just scared of it, it seemed to command my respect-"

"You heard what they said?"

"What?"

"Those men on the other side of the fire... they said that nobody could know about their orders from the church. _My_ church. They were going to kill us because of what my church told them to do... does that sound right at all to you?"

He didn't reply but glanced somberly at the ground. It would be too cruel to even give her so much as an I-told-you-so stare, and even though he knew he had been right, it felt bitter and wrong that she had had to find out like this. In response to his silence she searched the field, picking out every disgusting, deplorable thing with her eyes and seeing it through the lens of an atheist.

"It isn't right at all, that's why. People who act in the name of the being who created us all out of love and who never gained anything from it should act with the same love. The flag, the mercenaries... it all adds up now. Perhaps they even sent us to Enfermo to die, knowing what awaited us there. Such a thought fills me with sadness... but I know it's true. Now I only need to know why... why they did this. How does a church hope to gain anything from pointless slaughter? Didn't we learn enough from the Dragon Campaign?"

They fell silent as her questions hung in the air like the smoke over the fields. She eventually peeled back her ceremonial hood, letting sandy, clean hair fall over her shoulders and across her face. Cross could only stare in amazement as she changed before him, even when she brushed her stray locks out of her face her eyes seemed to have taken on a new confidence, and sadness.

"Will you help me?" he found himself saying. She glared at him.

"We can find the answers to these questions, Angela. It may take time and it may even take our lives... but it's all I have to live for now. Answers."

He frowned and nodded as though he had just reached this conclusion as he spoke. It seemed as though the flames had abated as they spoke and no longer did they stand in a field of death and fire, but as two people finally learning about themselves; what they were capable of, and what they were meant to accomplish.

"I will," she said, "I will help you to find the truth. I don't know how we'll do it, but I'm leaving the church. I have nowhere to live, no one to provide for me now. I have nothing as well. I guess we've got more in common than we first thought."

"I guess so."

They spoke no more, gathered themselves and set off further into the field. A short walk took them down another slope and into a shallow gulley, at the end of which was another entrance to the Ravine. They took it and before much time had elapsed were again under the shelter of trees, now free of the suffocating clouds of smoke. The path was level and smooth, Cross guessed that this was because the gulley they had taken was level with the bottom of the Ravine, so they wouldn't have as far to go before reaching the path again. And that they did.

Once again travelling westward down the trail, they stopped at a huge clearing bordered by the boughs of the tall, thick chestnut and redwood trees. The grass in the clearing had been gnawed short by the critters of the wood and through a hole in the canopy the just-darkening sky could be seen. Cross immediately fell on his back in the cushiony grass and closed his eyes.

"I could go to sleep right here."

"Well don't, or you'll be a Toasted Cross when you wake up next."

"You're right, but I still need to sleep. We could take shifts -I'll sleep for a bit and then you wake me up and get your share of shut-eye. At the first sign of trouble, we'll wake one or the other and skip on out into the breezy night-time..."

He was so sleepy he was losing coherency, and with a yawn passed out entirely. Angela sighed and sat down accross from him, enjoying the rest but refusing to doze off. To pass time she started comparing the much thicker, often misshaped trunks of the redwoods which seemed to rise up for leagues to the slightly thinner, but still majestic boughs of the chestnut trees, which only grew so large in the southern regions. Before long her eyelids began to get heavy and she lost track of her thoughts as her mind drifted off to nightmarish, deep slumber.

* * *

**Finally, Chapter Four is up! I was able to get some writing done over my vacation, but this chpater still isn't as long as I wanted it to be. I hate starting stories off, it's all just shit I need to get out of the way before it picks up and gets into the juicy stuff! I can guarantee a new main character in the next chapter, and a bit more action.**

**R&R and happy new year!**


	5. The Philosopher

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the original rights to the game off which this is based, but that would be cool, wouldn't it?

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Five: The Philosopher**

She was awakened by fingers gripping her shoulder hard, shaking her. The sleep had been torturous and filled with the images of rotting bodies, screaming monsters and dying friends, but waking up was still a bothersome irritation. She lifted one heavy eyelid off an unfocused, tired eye. Cross was crouched beside her, hunched over and staring at the path at the far end of the clearing. It took her a minute to clear her vision and gain some awareness, but she noticed that he was armed and alert. He didn't look at her, but as if sensing she was awake, he spoke.

"I hear voices. They're coming down the path. We have to hide, now."

Without replying, she readied her own staff and rose to creep into the brush with Cross. They must not have slept long, for it was still light outside, but barely. Hardly any light filtered into their spacious clearing, dousing the area in an eerie twilit darkness that chilled her bones. She knew that the least restful and lengthy sleep was what brought the most vivid dreams, and she had been expriencing those. She had to shake herself and blink hard to remind herself that she wasn't having one now.

Cross reached the edge of the clearing and immediately began picking his way through the thickest bush in the area, preparing for himself the best hiding place. Angela was about to reach him and remembered that she had forgotten their pack of supplies. It would be a hard journey without it, and if the owners of the voices on the path found it they would search for the two. Without a second thought she turned around and found the pack in a heap where she had been lying, several paces back. She jogged up to it, trying to be as quiet as possible, and as she lifted it off the ground was startled by a sudden shout from ahead. She glanced up; they had spotted her!

It was another group of the rough and untidily armored mercenaries they had seen in the field earlier that day. No two dressed the same, but it was as though they had a dress code to be as scarcely armored and poorly clothed as possible while wielding some of the most crude and brutal-looking weapons imaginable. One holding a lumpy wooden truncheon broke into a run towards her. She quickly turned and saw no sign of Cross; he had disappeared into the undergrowth. Panic leapt into her and she exploded into a desperate run for where she had last seen him. She didn't make it four steps before she could feel the breath of the club-wielding brute behind her, so she turned and wildly swung the decorated staff in hopes o finding a target.

Luck was with her; the gold knob at the end of the staff found purchase on the unsuspecting merc's forehead and sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious. Shocked at her own force, she stared at the prone body for a moment before she heard a voice shout from the entrance to the clearing;

"Don't kill her, man, I wanna have some fun!"

She looked up and came face to face with another, equally rough-looking man brandishing a similar weapon. He grinned hugely to reveal missing and crooked teeth.

"Not happening," he called back, "looks like she gave up. Pity, I'm used to the pretty ones putting up a good fight. What's the matter, babe? Like what you see?"

"Look out!"

A moment after the warning a look of confusion graced his ugly face before Cross erupted from the brush to his left at a leap and fully propelled his spearhead into the merc's neck. The farmer landed, grasped the handle with his other hand and twisted it hard. He then ripped it out the back of the man's neck, nearly tearing the head completely off. The body fell on top of the one already on the ground, which issued a low moan to signify he was still alive and not pleased. Cross took Angela by the wrist.

"You alright?"

"Yes-"

"Then let's-"

He was interrupted by more shouting in the clearing -at least four more angry mercenaries were pointing in their direction, preparing to charge after them.

"Aw, no, not again. Let's get outta here."

They pushed through the growth at the edge of the clearing and began running full tilt through the dense underbrush in this ignored panel of the forested ravine. Branches scraped at their faces and holding their weapons made blocking incoming twigs difficult, but they ran for their lives, ignoring any small cuts to their faces or necks or the dull pain of a branch strike to the leg or abdomen. They couldn't tell what was ahead of them or where thye were going, and Cross thought they would tumble into a pitfall or maybe a river, but neither hapenned. Instead they reached an upward slope; they were on their way out of the Ravine! Their pace slowed slightly by the slope, they began to pick their way through small opennings in the trees instead of running blindly forward. Over huge root tangles, around dwarfing trunks and under branches that reached like spindly fingers across their path.

At the crest of the hill Cross turned to try and find their pursuers amongst the heavy tangle of sitka alder, red shank and elderberry bushes that covered the ground between the massive trees protruding from the hillside. He could see disturbances in the tops of the plants made by the persistent followers. They were a ways behind, but still gaining.

"Look through the trees, up ahead!"

He spun around; Angela was pointing ahead, past the tree boughs and beyond the base of the hill. He couldn't see anything of importance.

"What is it?"

"There's a lake there, a little ways from the bottom of this hill. If we could get clear of the trees, maybe we can lose them?"

He was amazed that she could even tell there was a body of water past all of the trees before them. He didn't bother to check if she was right, though.

"I hope so, but we don't have time to think about it!"

He broke off and started clumsily down the slope the way everyone does when they try to run downhill. This side of the hill was much more bare of vegetation, but he soon found that that didn't matter as his foot caught in a root and sent him flying into a branch. They exchanged blows; he snapped the branch off, it knocked the wind out of him and together they rolled down the hill a good distance.

"Oh my God!" yelled Angela, "are you okay? Can you get up?"

She didn't wait for an answer but grabbed him from behind under his armpits and started hauling him up. He wheezed.

"Goddamn tree."

"Come on, we have to keep going!"

He nodded, broke off from her and started lolloping down the hill without catching his breath. He soon fell again and starting panting very hard, his eyes watering and his breath continuing to wheeze. Angela slung his arm over her shoulder and started to carry him down the hill. It was difficult to support him on the uneven slope, and she even had to stop completely a few times to step down a shallow rock drop-off. When they had almost reached the bottom, he fell off of her and leaned on a tree.

"I can breathe now," he panted before taking more deep breaths. "Are you tired?"

"What are you asking me that for? I just carried you down a hill! Of course I'm tired!"

He started to laugh, then coughed.

"Now you're laughing? Are you having another crazy episode of yours?"

He straightened and took on a serious look.

"I am _not_... having another 'episode'!"

"Then why are you laughing and asking stupid questions, we're being chased -we have to keep going!"

Cross sputtered for a moment, but she ran ahead. He grunted in anger before starting off after her. In mid run, he turned to see where the mercenaries had gone. They had just crested the hill and were gaining speed on the clear side of the hill. a few of them tumbled like Cross had and rolled much more down the hill. Without stopping, he turned back around and caught up with Angela.

"Ha ha, they fell like I did," he laughed, "now I don't feel so stupid."

"Compared to a mercenary?" she panted, "hardly."

He didn't feel offended but glad that she had joked a little. His own humor was puzzling enough, but he had been trying to bandage his pride for having lost in a tumble with a tree and then being carried down a hill by a priestess. Even in a depserate situation, he was overcome by uncharacteristic regard for face in front of her. Cross realized in his pleasure with her joke that he had acquired a deep liking for her, deeper than he had noticed in Enfermo at his shame for lying to her. He then resolved to get her away from these crude hired soldiers if it meant his life, for she would continue what he had set off to do when he had changed his own name, and he could die peacefully knowing that.

_Hey, getting a bit ahead of yourself aren't you?_ His ego challenged. _You're thinking this way about the only girl you've ever really had a chance to know outside of your little farm. You're practically giving up on life because of her? You're pathetic!_

_I'm probably right,_ he thought back, _I am pathetic, but I've had to change a lot in a short amount of time. Everything **around **me has changed in a short amount of time, and here I have someone with me who's agreeing with me and trying to help._

_You think she's in it for **you** and not her own reasons as well? Not only are you pathetic, but you're an egotist too!_

_If I'm such an egotist, how come I'd die for her? And I may be pathetic, but at least I have a purpose!_

He ended his own internal dialogue. He was so tired and overdriven that he was starting to have conversations with himself about himself in the midst of running from a pack of bloodthirsty mercenaries. _That_ seemed pathetic to him. _I hope this doesn't happen anymore_, he concluded. But, of course it will.

"Stop!"

Cross halted just as he was about to plunge into a muddy body of water at the edge of the wood. Skinny trees and a spindly, vine-like form of water lilly were growing out of the shallow water before him, and the woods barely changed at the edge of the lake of which the shallows were a part. He would have ran in up to his knees before noticing. Scanning to his left, he saw an area of grass and shrubbery speckled with brown, abruptly cut off growths that he realized were tree stumps. Following the stumps northward, he could see a shack at the northwest edge of the lake with a makeshift wharf extending a good twenty feet into the waters.

"This way," he shouted, starting to his left, "somebody's living on this lake! Maybe they'll help us!"

"_Somebody_?" she called back, beginning to follow, "who would live out here -are you sure?"

"I think it's lumberjacks!"

"Lumberjacks?! What makes you think they'll help us? We're getting them into more than they're likely to appreciate."

"I said 'maybe' they'll help. They'll be a good enough distraction anyways."

With no further argument she chased after him until they were able to leave the woods and instead run through the ankle-high shrubbery in the cleared-out patch of land beyond. They weren't running for long and their hopes of escape were nearly dashed when two of the following mercs burst through the tree line at a full run. Their eyes were filled with hate and lust and fixed purposefully on the two companions.

"Where'd they find these guys!? They just don't give up."

Cross looked frantically for somewhere to run and noticed the wooden shack; it was out on a sort of cape that was indescernible from the rest of the shoreline from where he had seen it previously. He was almost looking directly at it from where he was standing, and between it and him was about three hundred meters of water, and floating in the water were the sturdy, broad trunks of the trees that had been felled from exactly where they were standing. They could risk another fight with the blood hungry fiends or the possibility of drowning under several hundred tonnes of lumber. He chose the trees.

Angela looked on with relative puzzlement as Cross lunged for the nearest log and planted his feet firmly in the center of the trunk and spread them before it could start rolling. He tottered noticeably but jumped to the next platform before he could tumble. She summoned up the courage to take the leap, crouched then sprang, sailing through the air. She felt the hard lumber greet her eager feet and found it relatively easy to balance on the log. Then it started to roll. In a panic she jumped to the next log, then the next, but with each leap she was losing more momentum and on the eighth log or so began to fall backwards, windmilling her arms desperately.

Cross shot out his arm to grasp her flailing one, missed, and caught it on the second try. As he leaned to pull her forward, however, the log on which he had braced his rear leg rolled forward and he began to fall towards her. _This was such a bad idea_, he thought. As he fell forward, he glanced over Angela's shoulder and was shocked to see the nearest soldier stepping from trunk to trunk easily with his long legs, winding up with a cleaver-like short sword to strike. With a rough and hard push Cross sent Angela flying to the right and she landed prone, lengthwise to the tree. The shopping blade cleaved the air next to his face as the tall merc missed his mark. Without a pause, the soldier's elbow shot out into Cross' chest and he had to plant his foot on a separate log to steady himself. He grabbed the merc's wrist to prevent him from re-extending his arm, then punched the man in the face with his spear-wielding hand. The blow glanced off without doing any apparent damage.

"Ooh, you can't really hit, boy," sneered the tough merc, "I'll have to show you how before I drag your little girlfriend away."

"Try it, bastard!"

Cross issued two more futile punches to the man's face before the elbow he was restraining was forced up into his chin and he broke off with him. His teeth chattered and his vision went blurry for a moment before a hard punch knocked him to the wood, and he nearly tumbled into the water. He bled from his mouth into the clear, cool water.

"What did I tell ya?" the merc said in a smug tone, turning the young man onto his back. "Now if you could give up and die, I won't have to do that again."

He raised his arm for a horizontal downward swipe aimed at Cross' throat, but the farmer rolled and the blade sliced a gash into his unprotected trapezius and shoulder. Ignoring the near-instant pain carved into his muscle, Cross lifted his leg and planted his foot precisely on the next log over and sat up in one fluid motion as he exited the roll. Gripping his spear in both hands, he twisted and swung with all his remaining might at the skilled, merciless attacker behind him. His opponent only sprang back swiftly as the spearhead missed entirely.

Cross noticed to his left the second hireling making his way steadily but at a much less sure pace as the foe before him towards Angela, who was perched with flawless balance on two logs nearly twenty feet away and scrabbling through the leather pack strapped to her shoulder. He also noticed two more men making their way to the shore from the forested clearing. _We're done for... there's nothing I can do, is there? Why isn't she __**running**_?!

As he sharply inhaled to scream at her to flee Angela withdrew a small object from the pack, tightened her grip on it until it seemed she had crushed it, and hurled the item at the advancing would-be capturer. The small object sparkled as it flew through the air and upon striking the mercenary in the chest exploded into intense artificial flames.

"Ah! A Burn Out!" Screamed the panicked adversary as he futilely batted at the flames licking his chest and face.

In his agitation he pitched forward, twisted in the air and landed in the water, extinguishing the flames and just barely catching himself from becoming submerged and trapped beneath the massive platform of logs.

Unwavering, Angela boldly readied her staff and turned to face the stalwart mercenary who had given Cross such a hard time. He had pivoted on his own log to see what had hapenned to his comrade and seemed surprised by her reaction for he was still. _Oh God, she doesn't really think she can fight __**him**__, does she?_ Cross rose to his feet and winced in pain. He reached under and around his armpit to touch the deep gash he had aquired in the struggle, and felt warm blood pouring down his back. _This is it,_ he thought tiredly, _if I can stop just this one man, she can get away_.

He stubbornly lunged forward and thrust with his spear, only to be dodged again, tripped and thrown on his back. Landing roughly on a separate tree further down the row, he nearly lost consciousness from the pain in his back and the strain of the whole endeavour. Lying on the tree, about to roll into a peaceful, wet death, he gave up all hope for survival and only wished to sleep and be at peace. The cold water lapped further up his arm, reached his side, he was slipping...

A hand firmly grasped the waist of his shorts and pulled him securely back onto the log. He lolled his head to one side and saw Angela struggling to drag him from the water and succeeding. She was holding a jar containing a smooth yet thick-looking blue fluid. It seemed she had mastered log-travel and was making good use of her new skill.

"Cross! Don't let yourself go... in the water... help me," there was strain in her voice, but he could not help her any more than he could help himself.

Arching his back and bending his neck, Cross looked behind him, upside down. His foe was standing at the far edge of the log he had been tossed from, simply watching them.

"Let him go, woman. He's no good to you. Let him drift down into the water -you don't want him to die up here, do you? I'll bet drowning's a lot more pleasant than what I'll do to him. And besides... you're coming with me either way."

His voice still had that smug, victorious tone which boiled Cross' blood when it hadn't been spilling down his back. Still watching their bold and deadly foe, Angela leaned down, opened the bottle and put it to Cross' lips. He rested his neck and drank the tasteless Healing Potion. It would take a minute to work, but he could already feel his energy coming back.

"Hey, you two!" the cocky merc bellowed at his companions who were still at the shoreline, "get over to that cabin and see if anyone's home, and give 'em a nice shock!"

"This land isn't marked for seizure," one called back, "according to the church documents nobody lives here at all!" Angela visibly winced at the mention of the church.

"Well documents can be wrong, so get your ass over there and trash the place!"

The other continued to watch for a moment, then reluctantly began the march towards the quiant wooden cabin at the edge of the cape. The obviously dominant and much more dangerous merc looked back at the two young travellers, but his eyes filled with lust when they settled upon Angela.

"They want you, too. But I get to have the first... _session_," he smiled malevolently as the last word slid off of his lecherous, salivating tongue. "Now, come on."

As he began to step forward he suddenly looked up, beyond the two teenagers and a look of surprised horror crossed his face, as though a delivering saviour had emerged from the sky to scorn and burn him for his life of animalism. A shadow large enough to be a bear descended and landed on the opposite end of the log upon which he stood at that exact second. The size and weight of the thing see-sawed the log in the water and rocketed the once victorious mercenary into the air. He rag-dolled through the air and issued a horrified and muddled wail announcing the last moments of his life. After falling twelve feet from the air his body crashed inbetween two logs with a crunch of bones and a splash which resolved to a bubbling as his limp body was pressed and sucked beneath the surface.

The bear-like form which had rescued Cross and Angela hopped effortlessly onto an adjacent log and Angela realized he was no more than a man, albeit a hulking one. The tremendous frame turned to reveal a bearded, ax-wielding lumberjack. He was at least six-and-a-half feet tall, grasping the toy-like woodcutter's ax in his gigantic hands and furrowing his brow in concern.

"Are you kids okay?" he angrily yet somehow gently growled.

"I am, but I'm not sure if-" Angela started but Cross interrupted.

"No, I'm alright. Thank you. Just... get me off of these goddamn trees and onto land."

"Good, then."

The huge man nodded and then began strolling across the log platform as if it were dry land -his experience in his profession was staggering- to the torched mercenary who had been unable to pull himself up from between the two logs in which he had landed backwards.

"You wanted to have some 'fun' with the little lady, huh? Where's your etiquette, you scoundrel?"

"Uh, no, I wasn't going to, just please let me go," stammered the frightened captive.

Without another word the woodcutter lifted his huge leg and stomped it down on the wimpering merc's midsection, bending him in half and propelling him violently into a watery grave. Pausing momentarily to reflect on his righteous kill, perhaps still having to justify it to himself, the large man strolled back over to the two younger people he had rescued from a horrific fate.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I haven't had company for awhile, and theirs was the last variety of which I had expected. Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Soren," the big man spoke apologetically; he had lost his furious growl and spoke in a normal voice with charm.

"I'm Angela, and this is Cross. Thank you for you help, I don't know what we would have-"

"Oh, you don't want to think about that. It's why I helped you young folks. Does the young man need a hand getting back to dry land?"

"No, I'm fine, that shouldn't be necces-SARY!!!" Cross couldn't even protest before he was hoisted over the lumberjack's shoulder, carried back to shore and plopped back on his feet.

"Ugh, thanks, I think." He spoke sardonically, holding his midesction.

"Not a problem, m'boy!"

The big man beamed and Cross couldn't help but smile back, the bearded giant had a warm and friendly face masked by a rust-coloured yet slightly coppery beard. The three looked down the shore and Cross noticed for the first time the other two mercenaries who had been sent to the shack, dispatched and laying on the ground. One had a chop in both his arm and back, while the other sported a fierce dent in his helm. Perhaps Soren's lack of company had left him totally insane; here he had murdered four people single-handedly, but had the judgement to know that he wasn't taking the wrong side in their affairs? Cross was thankful for the huge man's help, but skeptical of his true intentions.

All his doubt was washed away when Soren asked, "Would you two like some supper, or perhaps a place to stay for the night? It's getting quite late and I wouldn't mind the company... besides, it looks like the young man could use some attire."

"Supper? Sounds great!" Cross responded quickly and enthusiastically. He had already burned off what little energy the potatoes had given him earlier and forgetten he had eaten that day at all. He soon became bashful whe he noticed that Soren was the first person he had ever met while only half-dressed.

At that they began the stroll towards the shack. Soren spoke to them rapidly as they walked.

"Of all the places you could have been chased to, you probably picked the best one. Haha! I feel like making a feast! Say, it may not be a matter of my concern, but what were those vagabonds trying to apprehend a cute young couple like you for? Well, I guess I had already deduced that, but how did you find that lot out here in the middle of nowhere?"

His articulation and inquisitiveness was startling, especially coming from such a large specimen who was supposed to have been chopping wood by himself for Soa knew how long. The fact that he was isolated in the wilderness harvesting lumber was bizarre to say the least, but _this_ was downright improbable. _This guy should be writing books,_ thought Cross, _not chopping up trees out here_. The young man could only open his mouth and gasp under the barrage of questions.

"Um, we're not really a couple sir. We're just travelling together, we've had a very strange experience these last couple of days, right Cross?" Angela politely replied.

"Uh...yeah you could say that," he replied, still flabbergasted.

"Oh, well, sorry for presuming like that," continued the woodcutter, "you'll have to tell me all about it over dinner. I'm hoping that the crux of your little mis-adventure was what just happenned right there. I hate thinking about kids like you going through worse than that... but I guess it's what our world has come to, isn't it?"

He sighed and was geuinely grieved at this statement. Upon reaching the shack Cross was pleasantly surprised that it could pass as a small bungalow and even more pleased by the well-made pier with the little dinghy tethered to the post. It seemed like an ideal getaway, but he couldn't imagine spending a prolonged period of time there, much less alone. He was used to the solitude of the expansive fields of a farm, where thoughts could drift by on every breeze and the very soil itself seemed to teem with knowledge passed down by the earth itself. One of his favourite things was when the thunder clouds would roll in, he could see them from what seemed like continents away and the air grew heavy and he could smell the rain on the air like a mist. The sense of grandeur and wonder at the beauty of the world always left him sure that he was happy to be alive.

Cross had been standing at the base of the pier and looking out onto the water, but he couldn't find the feeling again. It was lost as a tear would be in the lake, or the rain, if it came. He began to well up but choked it down. He could not let these feelings of pain and nostalgia control him as he had up until then, and on his next breath he blew them away over the lake, into the depths, away on the wind... gone. A weight lifted from him then, and all it left for the time being was bitter emptiness, but he knew it was for the better. He felt the shadow of the huge man behind him.

"Having a moment, eh?" he said in a low voice, "she'll do that to you, this lake. That's why I love her."

"Yeah," replied Cross, "me too."

* * *

Soren let Angela and Cross into his home and then left them alone to dispose of a couple bodies and to retreive dinner from his 'pantry.' He left them knowing that "things far more nasty than bears will show up if you leave that kind of thing out there" before he had gone, and left them to marvel at the interior of the small bungalow. They were in a large living room with a set of chairs at a table in the center (Cross felt pity for the big man at the sight -he had seemed so nice for someone so alone) and a wrought-iron stove used for cooking and heat. It was pleasant and roomy with these bare essentials, but what amazed them was the walls, which weren't walls at all but shelves stocked with books. From floorboard to ceiling each wall was lined with books, the only spared spaces being the stove and two doors, and not a single volume had collected a speck of dust. Some were thicker than two fists while others appeared to be no more than manuscripts in portfolio-like scrapbooks.

"Woah. This is how he keeps from going insane out here? He reads _this_ much? No wonder he speaks so well, I bet this guy wrote a couple of these while he was out here!"

Angela was pacing the walls and closely inspecting each volume like she was back at a library in Lohan, searching for a particular work to study.

"They're all on philosophy," she reported, "every last one. He really must do a lot of thinking out here. Hm... isolated out here, thinking about life and existence, I don't know if I could handle it. How do you think he got all of these out here?"

Cross folded his arms and thought for a moment. "He had to have a caravan bring it all out here. It's probably the same person who buys all of the lumber he chops out here. It makes sense if you think about it..."

Angela laughed before pulling an unlabeled volume from the shelf. "He must have placed an aura on this place... he's even got _you_ thinking."

"When did you get so bold with the insults to my intelligence?"

"When you fell down a hill into a tree. If I hadn't been running fo rmy life, I would have laughed at you."

They both had a good laugh and for the first time since they had met began to relax. It felt safe in the cabin, especially with Soren outside, and the expectation of foodleft them anxious, but comforted. Cross seated himself in one of the chairs and leaned back, as his father had always told him not to.

"We've got to get out of here first thing in the morning tomorrow. If he legally owns this land, then the Church knows about it, and it'll only be a matter of time before they get here. We've got to convince him to come with us."

"I agree. If we left him here, waiting to wind up like..." she looked quickly at Cross before continuing, "I just wouldn't be able to live with myself. Huh, more philosophy..." She sighed as she deposited another text back to its slot on the shelf.

"Right, me neither. Don't let your guard down yet, though. We need to talk to him a little more, make sure he hasn't become unhinged in this place and will chop us up and turn us into mulch-"

"Cross! How could you think that," she scolded him, "he seems very nice and I think we should trust him. You really need to-"

"Agh! I was joking! We can probably trust him... just sleep with one eye open okay."

"Augh, just shut up."

Silence filled the room and Cross resorted to scanning back and forth over the floor before leaning back and saying, "What's taking him so long?"

As if in response Soren crashed through the door and hauled a twenty-five pound fish onto the table. The dead fish crashed loudly onto the wood and flopped it's head directly at Cross, baring sharp teeth and a view into its spiky, gill-line throat. Cross leaped up with a yell and fell backwards in the chair, knocking his head on the floor.

"Oh, crap!" he moaned, "you startled me."

"Sorry, lad, but you really shouldn't have been leaning in the chair like that! You might, well, fall and hit your head!"

He stomped excitedly over to the table and dropped a burlap sack beside it, spilling out a few green, scaly vegetables with small yellow buds peaking out of the scales at the top. He then dug into his pockets and posited two fistfuls of nuts onto the table which were huge because his fists were gigantic.

"Boy, have I got a meal in store for you! This here's char, fished directly from this lake by myself, smoked and salted for just such an occasion. Then here we have Tanjuls, they're these vegetables that grow on a specific breed of tree out there. What you do is you boil them, then the core gets light and fluffy, so when you take off the scales and buds it's like a potato. They're kind of bitter, though, taste like pincones-"

"You've eaten pinecones?"

"Yes, it's good protein. Anyways, before I was interrupted I was going ot say that this is what the chestnuts are for -if we cook them we get a sweet, nutty flavor that goes nicely with the Tanjul. I see you've made yourselves comfortable and- ah! You're reading my books, that's wonderful! I'm a lumberjack by profession, but a philosopher at heart! Are you interested in philosophy?"

The man was teeming with excitement not only at the prospect of cooking for guests but that one of them had taken interest in his literature and could possibly hold a philosophy discussion. Startled, Angela looked up from the book she had been caught reading.

"Um, yes, I studied some objective theology when I was with the Church..."

"Oh," he seemed discouraged, "not my favorite branch of philosophy... oh well. You'll have to tell me about it later. And I thought that I recognized your outfit,"-he gave her a quick up-and-down-"they've changed those since last time I saw one. They're a little narrow-minded about philosophy, I don't mean to offend."

"It's not a problem," she assured him quietly, and closed the book.

Within the hour Soren had managed to cook their entire meal, including half of the fish, on the limited amount of space he had on his stove. When he laid out the plates before the two exhausted travelers, mouths began to water. The food was eaten swiftly and with little spoken over the duration of the supper except for compliments to the chef, muffled by mouthfuls of food. When all had been eaten, Cross and Angela were understandably tired, but still locked eyes after a brief but awkward moment when they both glanced around, pondering on what to tell their new friend. Upon looking into each others eyes, they both decided that now was the time to tell him everything.

It started off slowly and from both sides but picked up after the two met in each other's stories and soon the two were correcting each other and verbalizing at an incomparable rate. Soren stared at his plate during the serious part and raised his eyes in amazement during some particularly exciting moments, but otherise remained a polite and quiet listener. When the tale was told, he sat up in his seat and spoke in a monotonous, deep and low voice.

"That's nothing short of amazing. Tragic, yes -and shocking, also. But still amazing."

He licked his lips, furrowed his brown into a frown and raised one huge mitt to his bushy but short beard. After pondering a moment, he brushed back his shaggy hair and cleared his throat, but still spoke in the same tone.

"You need to forget about going to Lohan. I can take you to Fletz and you'll tell what you just told me to the King. We need to take this straight to the highest authority in this realm, he'll know exactly what to do."

"What? How do you know we'll be able to get into the Twin Castle, let alone talk to the _King_!" Cross was glad that Soren had agreed to accompany them, let alone believe them, but he was startled by this radical proposition.

"I told you I am a philosopher at heart. When I lived in Fletz, I was the top scholar, along with a friend of mine I would advise the King. If that friend still lives in Fletz, he can take us right to the King, who will listen to me. And I know he will help because he has certain... opinions on the Church."

He glanced nervously at Angela during his last sentence. Cross noticed his discretion and also that Angela seemed to not care. _That's good,_ he thought, _I expected it would be harder to get her away from whatever they had brainwashed her with in that sect_. He also took note of his reluctance as a sort of political secrecy; if Soren told everyone that the King was against the Church of Soa -a God whose very existence was proven by the Dragon Campaign- it would cause a fissure in the relatively peaceful relationship between the secular community and the ruling class which could be catastrophic. Cross admired Soren's intelligence in the matter and immediately agreed with the plan.

"I need to sleep on this though. And think on it a little more. I can't just up and leave this place, I've got a lot of responsibility to keep here. You two look exhausted as well. Young lady, you may enjoy the master bedroom, if you so wish. Cross, come with me out to the tool shed. I think I have some linens there."

Angela gratefully accepted the bedroom and wished the men goodnight before sealing herself behind the door. Soren led Cross out of the shed and to their right, away from the lake and towards the trees. Just within the woods Cross could see the tool shed, which actually _was_ a shack. Without any conversation, Soren stepped inside and motioned for Cross to join him. He left the door open to allow moonlight to filter in. Cross observed the many instruments in the shed: a shovel, a pick, several axes, a whetstone, a few hammers and boxes of nails, and a lot of straps and rope. Built into the wall was a lidded box that was at chest-level on Cross but a comfortable height for Soren to reach into; Cross guessed that this is where the 'pantry' was. He then noticed the smoker built into the same wall, the inside stained black and a chimney at the top.

Soren reached into the pantry box and withdrew a corked, rope-tied bottle. He popped the cork and took a long swig before passing it to Cross, who looked at it questioningly.

"Whiskey," gasped the lumberjack, "not the best kind, but you'll get some real sleep after a bit of that."

Cross thanked him and tipped the bottle up, pouring too much of the burning liquor directly down his throat. He swallowed, passed Soren the bottle back and coughed. The big man chuckled as he did so, took another swig then grabbed some simple felt blankets out of a box next to the hammers and nails. He handed the young farmer a few and stepped outside.

"That was quite the story you two told in there, and I mean it. I've heard some bad ones," he admitted, "I'm truly sorry about your family... and all the others out there who must have..." he cut himself short.

There was a long silence. "Thank you," said Cross.

Soren locked the shed and turned around to gaze at the lake. The stars shone a multitude of bright lights on the dark lake, creating a grandiose replica of mica in the water, like bright speckles on a dark egg. The night was clear, dark and beautiful, with only the sounds of nature disturbing the cool breeze evoking a steady chorus amongst the trees. To their right, to the south, an orange-ish purple light was flickering on the horizon, raised by the surrounding trees but still distant.

"That's it, isn't it?" asked Soren, "the fire that's consuming the forest and fields alike."

Noticing it for the first time, Cross answered, "it must be. It almost looks... beautiful from here."

They agreed in silence as they watched the dancing light on the horizon. Drinking in the serenity of the night, feeling the darkness and empty night around them, it felt like they were the only people on the planet, along with Angela. Cross appreciated that feeling and held onto it for as long as he could; that if there was no one else that he could tell himself that nobody was suffering as he had at that very moment. It didn't work for long.

"I hate the thought of leaving this place, but I hate the thought of it being taken from me even more. You see the trees around the lake?"

He pointed to the left of his house and traced his finger along the shoreline. At first Cross couldn't make out anything unusual about the trees, but he soon noticed how in one area they were fully grown, then as they continued to the right, specific areas would have smaller trees, progressively shrinking to eventually saprolings and finally the stumps to their right, which stood out like tipped-over tombstones in the night, marking graves for no one.

"Every area where they get smaller is how many years I've been on this lake, making my living. First I cleared right over there out, built my house, and this shack. Then the time started to slip away from me, it was just sand going through my fingers, and I was just watching it flow away. It wasn't like I was waiting for someone like you two to come along, but when you came, I knew. Something is happenning, and I'm a part of it. I can't help it," he held out his hands, "any more than I can keep the sand from flowing away and running out."

Cross felt it too, then. That more than coincidence had brought him to Angela, then brought them to Soren. He had felt a connection to them, not much unlike what he would feel towards a sister or father, but still vastly different. His heart told him that he wouldn't survive if he was separated from these people, and he knew without a doubt that it was true. _We are connected now, the three of us, and if the other two don't feel it, then it must not exist_, he thought, _but they do. They must._

"I wasn't going to say inside, but I don't like the philosophy of the Church because, well you know what they think, don't you? They think that Soa has a fate planned for all of us. I hold that we create our own existence, that we are all free. The Dragon Campaign proved that we are free of Soa's fate, his will. His plan was to destroy us all, but when the Dragoons stopped that, where does the plan go from there? Aren't we not fated anymore? Aren't we... free? The Church needs to wrap themselves around that idea before they'll have my approval, as well as the King of Izezuza. But what you've told me means that maybe they have... and maybe it drove them insane."

Cross understood then what conclusions philosophy had allowed Soren to reach in this wilderness. The beauty of nature, the solitude, and the reading had openned his mind. He felt ashamed for ever considering his friend to be insane, but proud to have met him all the same. Together they walked back to Soren's house, and Cross couldn't help but turn to look back one last time at the eerie light reaching up like a sun at the tree line.

"Goodnight, Cross," said the yawning bear behind him, "may the winds of sleep carry you to a world of paradise."

"Hm, I don't think so," muttered Cross, "I'm still chained to an anchor I tried to leave behind."

* * *

**Wow, this chapter came out of like three different sittings. It got a little epic at the end, I have to say. I'm yet again faced with a shitload of school work, but I have a little more time now that I don't have a job to worry about, at least for a while. I think I'm finally starting to settle into this story -I actually felt good about writing this chapter! Hopefully I can keep up this good pace, I have at least another 50 Chapters worth of plot already planned. **

**R&R and let me know if you like this chapter as much as I feel good about it!**

**Edit: I published the chapter without even realizing that I had not addressed Cross' lack of a shirt after the fight with the necromancer! I fixed that with a little snippet of dialogue, as well as a few spelling errors I noticed around there. I was a little hasty this time!**


	6. From Below

**Disclaimer: **I would like to own Legend of Dragoon, but I don't!

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Six: From Below**

Early the next morning Cross rose, completely awake despite having just regained consciousness. He had been graced with a slumber untroubled by any events of the previous day due to his exhaustion. Rising from the hard floor upon which he had slept, he strolled out the front door, cracking his stiff joints and stretching sleepy muscles. Stepping out the front door, he noticed Soren immediately to his right leaning on the side of his cabin and staring to the south.

"Good morning," croaked the groggy giant.

"'Morning," responded Cross, "didn't get much sleep?"

"Not really," he admitted, despite managing a smile.

Cross found his eyes wandering to the sky; it was clear and sunny again. Through all of the horrid things he had been experiencing recently, it had stayed sunny and pleasant. The rest of the world was going along happily, unlike what he had imagined the previous night.

"All this sun," he began, "can't be good. I wish some clouds would just roll in... that would be nice."

"Some people would say that's a poor attitude to have," chuckled Soren, "but we _are_ in a state of aridity as of late. Some rain would be pleasant. Here, I managed to find this. Don't know what to say about the colour, but it's the only thing that will fit, I think."

He tossed Cross a bundle of fabric that undone proved to be a finely-woven shirt with short sleeves. It was a dark and soothing violet. He was just glad it wasn't the same pinkish-purple a certain disease had scarred into his mind.

"Thanks," he said, pulling the shirt over his head, "I don't really mind the colour, actually. It kinda feels right."

The shirt was too large for him but not by enough to look ridiculous. He rolled up the sleeves a few times so that they didn't flare too much and found that it wasn't terribly long on his torso. It puzzled him how this could have ever fit onto such a huge man so he asked why Soren even had it.

The big man only replied: "It is a rather aged garment, I'll tell you that. Don't really know how I acquired it or why I retained it, but it was there."

At that he stepped into the cabin he had built and began causing a ruckus. Cross peeked in the door and saw Soren wielding an array of cooking tools in an awkward fashion.

"We'll have breakfast before we depart. I don't know how polite it is for either of us to roust the young lady, so I'm just going to raise a little cacophony and hope she gets up."

While the meal was being prepared Angela suddenly emerged from the bedroom, looking even more haggard and underslept than Soren. Inquiry into the matter told Cross that she had been having dreams of the fate of their former companions, which reminded him of the two. He knew that the old man and young child weren't the most capable or stalwart of people, but he could only be optimistic and comforting as to their whereabouts. Angela planted her forehead on the breakfast table until the meal was served; leftover fish with some fruit. When the plates were clean Cross looked up and around.

"What do you need our help getting, Soren? We should prepare," he felt like a jackass for practically telling the man to leave behind his home.

"You're probably right..." Soren sighed, "I just need a few things from the shed and some things from in here. You don't need to help, but... please enjoy this place for me and be ready when it's time to go."

He wordlessly stood up and exited the wooden building. Cross glanced at Angela with a pained look on his face. She seemed completely focused on staring blankly at the table.

"You know, I thought it would feel good knowing we helped him out of here, but it just feels like we're forcing him away from where he belongs," he admitted.

Angela folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them before groaning, "It's for the best. He said he was a philosopher anyways. He'd rather be in some library than out here."

"This _is_ a library... I hope he doesn't want to take too many of these," he pivoted around, glaring at all of the books he was indicating. "But you're probaby right."

"Just... stop talking. For a bit," her voice trailed off and soon she only issued the loud breathing indicating unconsciousness.

Cross stood up and gathered up his things. He packed some of the linens into the leather bag and noticed that along with three more healing potions, a healing fog and an Angel's Prayer they also had a couple more of those orbs that had produced a 'Burn Out' during the previous day's skirmish. They glowed different colours, one a light blue and the other orange. He had no clue how they were to be used and was generally curious as to their chemistry. He had not been exposed to much outside of the farm; not even the well known history that was the Legend of the Dragoons, and this weapon piqued his curiosity.

Soren heavily walked back into the cabin holding another axe that looked shiny, new and recently sharpened. He too had a bag and a couple of tools could be heard clanking around inside. Some packages were protruding from the top and Cross took them to be wrapped food items. Soren threw the bag on the table, causing Angela's head to snap up and she glared at him angrily. Without taking notice, Soren double-checked the bag, did a lap of the room to gather a good deal of manuscripts from the shelves and stuffed them in before closing it. Then he entered his room to reemerge a couple of minutes later, now wearing a tanned, unbuttoned leather vest over a deep blue shirt of tough, roughly-woven cotton with rolled-up-to-the-elbow sleeves that billowed everywhere except for the shoulders. He looked somewhat formal in the outfit, but it still displayed his bodybuilder's physique.

"Casual wear," he explained, "for when we get to town."

Checking one last time to make sure that they were well-supplied and taking one last forlorn look at the cabin which had housed him for so long, Soren led them outside and stepped out the door for the last time. His poor mood was further sullied by the black smoke curling up over the treetops ahead of them. Truly, the place was done for.

"Alright," he explained, "we turn around and head up a slightly overgrown path that my friend uses to come buy lumber. It's hidden, so we'll have to take a couple of side paths before we reach the main road headed west."

"Do you mean the Ravine road?"

"No of course we aren't going in that direction. We are well out of the Ravine now. I want to go west until we reach Klippe, which is at the mouth of a pass leading North to Tiberoa. We'll stay in Klippe and by the end of tomorrow we'll be in Fletz."

He jangled a pouch at his waist that was heavy with gold.

"This should easily take care of any expenses we might need to pay along the way. I've got a lot more, but it's in a bank at Fletz. It pays to chop your own lumber for twelve years!"

He tried to smile but lost it and dropped his eyes to the ground. Cross could hardly bear it.

"Please, Soren, don't feel bad. We're sorry that you-"

"You don't have to be sorry about a damned thing. I know whose fault it is that I'm leaving here. I just tend to get a little romantic when I'm closing another chapter in my life... I can't wait to see how things have changed."

As he shrugged, took a deep breath and prepared to say something like "let's go" three fully armoured soldiers appeared from the forest path behind the cabin and started running in their direction. Cross noticed them striaghtaway and warned his companions. Angela pointed out that they were in uniform, but not the traditional blue of the Serdian corps. The soldier leading the group stopped in front of them and saluted. His grey and brown armour and helmet obscured his features and the voice that echoed from within the metal spoke seriously, making the man seem robotic.

"Greetings, and sorry if we caused any alarm. We mean you no harm. My name is Sargeant Carey and I'm here on behalf of the Neo-Dragonian Movement. Sir, are you and your family aware of the forest fire headed in this direction?"

Startled, Soren didn't bother to argue, only replying "Yes, we are."

"Then you are prepared to leave the area?"

"Yes, we were just on are way."

"That is good. We are here to ask permission for our response team to move onto your property in order to extinguish the fire. The lake here is the ideal water supply for us to utilize in our operation. Do you consent?"

Angela seemed to know who these men were and cowered behind Soren, who was looking mean and appeared to dislike them as well. Cross was utterly clueless as to who they were or what a 'Neo-Dragonian' movement was. Noticing for the first time Angela and what she was wearing, Carey leaned around Soren to see better.

"What is she doing here?"

They didn't reply.

"We have intel that suggests that the Church of Soa may be responsible for this fire, did you know that? Is this girl even your daughter, sir?"

"Yes, she is," growled Soren, "and we were just about to leave. You have permission to use my land, but if you try and stop us I'm going to have to make things difficult for all of you."

Appearing unphased by his challenge, Sargeant Carey stood in silence to ponder his decision.

"All right. Get out of here."

Without another word they filed past the stationary guards who only stood, still as statues, even when Soren brought his face right up to Carey's to pierce him with his furious, dark blue eyes. Cross took note of the blue crests on their breastplates which depicted a coiled serpent-like dragon with one claw raised. The three travelers fled to the path from which the soldiers had come and past a wagon guarded by similarly-clad officers. Making their way up the path, they were suddenly and violently disturbed by a groundshaking discharge which launched a jet of water from Soren's lake high into the air. When they turned around they could see the high fountain resolve into a mist that was swept to the south, causing an updraft of steam.

"Did they just put out the fire in one shot?" Cross asked admirably.

"Probably not, but they definitely helped to stop it. Dammit! They destroyed my lake, those bastards! It wasn't so bad leaving it, but now that they've done that... it's only making leaving worse."

"I hate those Neo-Dragonians," whined Angela. She was clearly disturbed by the sight of them.

"Who are they?" asked Cross.

"Almost immediately after the True End to the Dragon Campaign," explained Soren as they continued, "there was a faction formed blaming the Church of Soa for the destruction caused by the violent, destructive fall of The Moon That Never Set. They claimed to be acting in the name of the Dragoons who had given their lives for all of Endiness, despite being disowned by the still-living Dragoons themselves. They were acting in the best interests of our world, but were just a group of nihilists persecuting others for their beliefs."

Soren was speaking of them with nothing less than disgust, despite not supporting the Church himself.

"I know that Soa's 'will' may not have been an agreeable enterprise, but it doesn't give anyone an excuse to hate or destroy people for still believing in something."

Cross mulled over what Soren said and agreed with him -Soa may have had a plan that resulted in the end of their world, but it didn't mean that He didn't exist or hadn't created them with a purpose... did it? For a few hours he entertained the thought of agreeing with a particular side. He liked the Dragonians because he hated the Church, but so far what he had heard about them was that they were ignorant and dishonourable. The group reached what was apparently a dead end and Soren paced back and forth in front of the wall of vegetation. He eventually stopped and held a branch to one side, gesturing for the two teen-agers to enter the path beyond. It was trellised with lush vegetation but still had a distinct and clear route for them to follow. It eventually intersected with a much wider and well-used road beneath the canopy of huge trees that were now much more widely spaced apart.

From there Soren guided them northwest along the road and they travelled in that direction for several hours. As the day wore on into afternoon, they paused for a break and ate once more, taking care to drink plentifully of the water Soren had taken from the now-destroyed lake. The liquid was clean, mineral-enriched and had somehow remained cool. It was also delicious. After they had set off once more, it became apparent to them that there was a camp in the woods somewhere to their left, adjacent to the road. They could hear the commotion of voices and a small army of rough, shabby, drunk men.

"Who do you suppose that is?" puzzled Soren.

"It's either more mercenaries or Neo-Dragonians," Cross plainly told him, "but either way I hope they don't notice us."

"I agree. Can we go a little faster?" asked Angela uneasily.

All three were so nervously watching the trees to their right that they almost walked right into the caravan nearly blocking the road in front of them. Cross, at the front, stopped dead upon noticing them, letting out a nervous yelp. Angela bumped into his back and Soren almost shouldered them both onto the ground before he, too, stopped. The sleek, recognizable armour strapped to each of the approximate hundred was Neo-Dragonian, and each was expressionless.

"Where is it that you three come from?" demanded the guard at the front of the troop, who had a plume rising daintily from the top of his helm.

"We're heading out of Lohan," Soren quickly responded, "we've been travelling for a few days and are headed for Klippe. My mother who lives there is on her deathbed. These are my children, Cross and Angela, and they just want to see their grandmother one last time."

Cross restrained a smile at the middle-aged lumberjack's impeccable lie.

"Hm, I see. I'm sorry about that," the guard answered, "is your daughter going to pray for her? Is that why she's dressed in that disgusting Church uniform? You should really get her to dress appropriately when you go out in public."

A few of the soldiers behind him chuckled and Cross began to boil with fury and not because they were disrespecting the Church but that they were ridiculing Angela.

"Why is it that you are armed as you are? You all must be aware of the reports of bandits and mercenaries flooding this area, yet still you go to visit your mother... I respect that. Carry on, and try to be careful until you reach Klippe."

He waved them away and Soren thanked them with some disdain in his tone. As they were about to leave a booming voice resounded from the trees to their left:

"YEAAAAAAARGH! Neo-Dragonians!"

The entire encampment of mercenaries had amassed among the verdant area, poised to attack like hungry dogs. The Dragonians immediately turned and drew their weapons in a chorus of metal-on-metal scraping.

"What quarrel have you with the mighty Neo-Dragonian movement?!" roared the leader of the group.

"We're all on contract for a pay bonus to destroy any scum in your little _club_ on sight!" sneered the bulky mercenary leader, who was a walking metal piercing display.

"Is that so? I'll be sure to get the rest of the information I need out of your dying mouth, you dirt-eating son of a bitch!"

With their leader's rage the Dragonian force took their cue and erupted forward, roaring with pleasure at the approaching battle. On several wagons amidst their group, warriors wearing strange full-body armour ripped away the cloth covering their wooden vehicles and leaped down to join the battle. The armour was high tech and bulky, with a strange circular, glowing battery clamped onto the back of the suit. Vein-like tubes stretched from the orbs to every part of the armour, filled with the glowing, colorful energy contained within the source. These elites moves with impossible speed in their suits and fought with equal vigor. Other members of the contingent fired with crossbows and single-shot rifles into the enemy ranks. The Neo-Dragonians were easily far too advanced and skilled for the mercenaries to hope to defeat.

In the resulting chaos Cross, Angela and Soren were easily able to sneak away up the path and run far away to distance themselves as much as possible from the vicious battle. They slowed after a few minutes of their flight.

"Those Neo-whatevers," panted Cross, "sure don't mess around."

"I think we should avoid them from now on. Especially because of you," Soren said apologetically to Angela, "I think we've been taking our chances with them. We wouldn't want to risk an encounter that would result in some kind of violence."

Cross was confused as to how Soren could still choose his words so well in such a situation, but agreed that they would not stand a chance against one of those powerfully equipped radicals. Continuing forward once again, they were stunned upon reaching an escarpment of sheer, light brown, sun dried rock. The cliff began fifty feet from the edge of the forest, was over three hundred feet tall and rose as far as the eye could see in either direction.

"Hm, this is perplexing, to say the least," mumbled Soren, "Klippe should be at the end of the path once we reach the Cliffs of Enki... unless we diverged from it when we were fleeing that battle. The escarpment is too sheer to climb and it's not like we can go back now. I guess we'll just have to follow the cliffs this way until we reach Klippe."

"Wait, so somehow we got lost?" Cross asked worriedly.

"You could say we got a little disoriented back there, but it bothers me how we entered another path without noticing a fork in the road," he scratched his beard and thought. "Like I already stated, we shouldn't go back, and I'm sure that Klippe is this way," he pointed to their left.

"Okay, I'm not going to argue. I'm just as confused as you are."

They followed the tall, neverending cliffs in a westward direction until they rounded a clear area where the trees had been cut even farther back. The ground here was dusty and barren, and an opening had been carved out of the side of the massive cliffside to create a gaping cave. There were a couple of shacks built on the grounds, and many of the tools scattered about the area implied that this was a mining establishment. The travelers called out to whoever might be there, and when no-one replied they assumed that whoever it was were in the mines. They made their way into one of the shacks and found a desk scattered with various reports, forms and other documents. Soren began leafing through them at once.

"These are all just progress reports on a tunnel burrowed right through the Cliffs of Enki. If we take that tunnel, we'll be in Tiberoa by nightfall... maybe we'll even make it to Fletz before it's too late in the night."

"Going underground? I'd rather if we go to Klippe and rest for a night if you ask me. Getting to Fletz is important, but... I don't really go for caves is all," Cross nervously stated as a chill crept up his spine just thinking about miles of rock above him, ready to come down at any second...

"I can't find any maps here... for all we know Klippe is in the opposite direction and we may have passed it already. The tunnel is our best option right now, if we could just find the mining crew and ask permission to go through."

He pulled up a stained parchment from the bottom of the pile and inhaled sharply at the sight of the green church emblem stamped onto the paper.

"What's that?" Cross asked with grim interest.

"It says that they're a privately owned mining company being payed by the Church to dig the tunnel... it also states that they're being paid extra to keep quiet about the whole thing, and will not be notified of the use or purpose of the tunnel and are never to use it themselves upon its completion."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"There's some more reports here, this one's the most recent," Soren indicated one of the sheets and dropped it back to the table, "but so far it says that the tunnel is safe for use, at least so far as I can tell."

"They don't have any real reason to not let us through Cross," Angela assured him, "I say we go through the tunnel, the faster we get to Fletz, the better. There may be more Neo-Dragonians in Klippe, too..."

Cross thought about that possibility for the first time and finally agreed, "Okay, I'll go through the tunnel, but it's definitely not going to be fun."

* * *

The recent report that Soren had indicated, already gathering dust after the three travelers had left, read:

_Today we arrived at the site for another day of work in the mine. We've pretty much broken through the northern wall of the ridge, though it took us a good three years. Now we begin the tedious process of clearing out the inside of the caves; some parts will have to be widened greatly to meet the Church's specifications. I just hope that things go a little more smoothly than they have so far. Barnes said he saw something in the catacombs yesterday and we haven't been able to get him back in to work yet... guess I'll just have to fire his ass._

_It's afternoon now and we've all decided to give up on work for the day. Something so strange happened today that I don't think it will ever leave my mind, it chills me now just to think about it. We were heading into the cave this morning when we noticed something was blocking the entrance. We barely noticed it because it was completely black from head to toe, it had no features at all except for two emerald eyes. When I tried to walk past it into the cave it raised these huge, black wings and shrieked at me! It was the most terrifying sound I have ever heard, and despite the fear we all felt, we agreed to stay for the day to see if it would leave. We waited for a long time, and one of the guys tried to go back in, only to unleash that horrid scream agian. I swear nothing sounds like that, nothing alive on this earth, and no sound has ever terrified me more._

_Hours went by, and when we were least expecting it a huge explosion rocked the entire site. We went to check the cave to see smoke and fire spewing from the entrance and the black creature was gone. Whatever strange thing it was... it saved all of our lives. When the cave was safe to enter again we found evidence that the tunnel had been filled with some sort of natural gas, and a timed immolation spell had been set deep within. I was informed that this would be the work of a skilled human mage, and if not a wingly. I don't know of anyone who would be out to get us, but under review I realize that the conditions under which we were hired are questionable. We're just miners trying to make a living like everyone else. We're going back into the tunnel tomorrow, but everyone is uneasy now and I'm not sure how much longer we'll be able to continue this work..._

* * *

The inside of the tunnel slanted immediately downward into the rocky earth. The torches still burning on the walls cast huge shadows that warped and undulated on the uneven walls as they walked by the flickering lights. Before long the sound of rushing water echoed up from the depths to greet them, a soothing sound which eventually became violent as they reached the side of the huge underground river. The water ran from their left and slightly behind them, flowing diagonally across the passage and into an opening ahead of them and to the right. The edge on which they stood dropped off ten feet into the churning water and it was at least fifty feet to the other side.

"W-well we tried, now I would really like it if-" Soren shoved the apprehensive Cross and pointed to a makeshift scaffolding that branched the gap in the tunnel. It was supported by ropes and pulleys in places.

"That doesn't look safe at all, and I'll say again that we should really-" he was interrupted again when the heavy, muscular man jumped onto the platform and stomped it a couple of times, "-OH GOD STOP THAT! _You're gonna fall through!_"

His voice grew higher in pitch from his hysteria as he grew steadily more unsettled by the impenetrable rock surrounding them and the treacherous walk ahead. He was further disgraced when Angela walked ahead of him onto the platform without a word and sauntered effortlessly across the scaffolding with Soren. Mustering up whatever mettle he could, Cross finally stepped onto the wooden planks suspended over the gushing underground river. _Aw shit_, he thought, _that wasn't very considerate, them going ahead like that. I ha-a-ate being underground!_ Shaking his head to try and remain steady, he carefully plodded across on the tips of his toes, jumping at every creak in the structure. When at last his feet were planted on solid rock, he finally let out a heavy sigh of relief.

"There, doesn't that feel better. Like you've overcome something?" Angela teased with a smile.

"No! I want to get the hell out of here! I'm used to the open sky, clouds and... stuff. This makes me sick," he admonished seriously.

"I understand that Cross but this is really our best option. That platform was totally safe and the rest of the tunnel seems like it has been built quite professionally-"

Soren was interrupted by the sound of an iron rail dropping from a piece of scaffold, taking a plank with it into the water below with a clang and splash.

"Yeah this is really safe. Tell me that won't happen next time we go through somethin like that. Hm?! O-o-o-ooh, this was a bad idea!"

"Just quit your bellyaching and lets get this over with quickly then!" scolded Angela. She approached him sternly and he recoiled in terror; his nerves were shot from being underground.

They were able to drag Cross down the tunnel for a bit before he agreed to cooperate and began promenading ahead of them, just to further mock their decision to enter the cave. He appeared to be going insane in his phobia and danced ahead quite a ways before falling into a pit in the tunnel. Angela and Soren ran to make sure he was alright and found him a few feet below, sprawled on the wall of the diagonally downward-facing pit. It was perfectly cylindrical and projecting at a thirty-five degree angle from the passage, so he hadn't been able to tumble to the bottom.

"I'm f-f-fine," he said, staring up at them from the pit, "this thing is wierd though. It doesn't look like it goes anywhere, but it's pretty big."

He stared around at the walls of the cavity, which were completely smooth and almost polished.

"This hollow is too perfect, it was definitely made with magic," Soren explained.

"It's a good thing I landed on something soft, or I may have hurt myself or-" he stopped mid sentence and stared down at his feet where he had landed. Protruding from his soft landing pad was a human hand, fingers bent in agony petrified by rigor mortis. Staring around him, he realized that the entire bottom of the cylindrical hole was lined with the mutilated bodies of each and every miner that had been working to excavate the very tunnel through which they travelled. Soren had retreived a torch and the eerie light cast right down the pit illuminated the whole grave in all-too-horrific light. Howling, Cross scrambled for the edge of the cavity, trying to pull himself up. Soren bent down to lift him out, nearly being pulled in himself. Angela had turned away from the whole scene, instead choosing to bow her head and look at the opposite wall to the hole which had been burned out of the rock and filled with the defaced, defiled and mangled dead.

"Okay, Cross. Now we know where the miners are, and it is seeming like a _very_ good idea to get the hell out of this place," Soren inquired with the faintest hint of unease in his raspy, deep voice.

"Oh, thank you, I hate to say I told you... what's. Happening. Now?!" He was staring into the dark behind Soren and spoke disjointedly, for he could just see something moving on the edge of the darkness beyond.

Glaring over his shoulder expectantly, the lumberjack then turned and held his torch forward, challenging the darkness. The firelight illuminated a series of slowly moving, almost twitching, bony spines hanging down from the roof. They had sharp points and extended up into the roof; when Soren lifted the light to see where they went something big dropped down from the cieling, uncoiled itself and growled, rearing up on its hind legs. It had pale, brownish skin, clawed appendages and a fanged, eyeless face. It's creaky growl was produced by it inhaling deeply through its nostrils, apparently smelling the frightened threesome. If Cross were to stand on Soren's shoulders, he would be face-to-face with the nightmarish cave dweller.

"We have to run to the end of the tunnel. Maybe it won't follow us," whispered Cross. The thing twitched at the sound of his voice and faced him.

"I don't think that will work to our advantage. I wouldn't trust this thing behind us anymore than I'd trust a beaver in a lumber yard," Soren instructed, "if we're aggressive enough, we might be able to scare it away."

It turned to the sound of his voice now, and the big man slowly sidestepped around it, keeping it's attention trained on him. Taking his cue, Cross began to circle around it on the other side, his spear visibly trembling in his shaky hands. _Not only am I practically encased in rock now,_ he thought, _but I've got to fight with the Thing from the Center of the Earth!_ He didn't know what Soren had expected him to do from this angle, but he soon noticed the creatures' thin chest over which an extra pair of arms was folded; when the arms shifted he could see paper-thin skin clinging to a heaving ribcage, and even the rhythmic thump of a heart within. That was the weak point. He took aim with his spear, lifting it over his right shoulder.

Angela, recovering from the shock of the sight of yet another massacre, noticed the absence of talking between the two men and turned to see where they had gone only to be met with the sight of the tall, skeletal creature with spines folding out from the back like spiky wings. Cross and Soren were nowhere to be seen. Despite trying to withhold her scream, a fearful whimper started to sneak its way out of her throat. When the monster turned to her in response to the sound, the full scream finally ripped its way from her mouth, driving the thing into a frenzy. It opened its jaws, bellowing a predatory roar that reverberated off the walls of the cavern, raising it to a deafening level of sound, and advanced.

Panick-stricken, Cross threw his weapon without taking aim and it stuck in the monster's lower jaw. It raised one of it's primary arms to remove the spike but was interrupted when Soren, in a move of surprising agility, ran up to it, launched himself off of one of its armored knees and chopped his axe into the monster's arm. Roaring again, though this time in pain, the creature backed away to nurse it's arm, which dangled limply from a flap of flesh, by ripping the appendage off and swallowing it. As it self-cannibalized, Cross leaped up to grasp his spear handle, only to be left dangling in the air when it didn't come loose. The arms folded in front of the chest shot out and began to crush him in a bear hug. As the pressure began to build, he screamed in agony.

"Cross!" shouted Soren, approaching the monster to deliver another devastating axe blow.

Displaying it's flexibility, the creature bent itself over backwards and began to clamber towards Soren on its long, sharp spines. The pointed appendages chipped away at the rock as it advanced, and the large man found it reasonable to flee the onslaught. The strangely-moving creature gained on him while continuing to crush his helpless comrade, when a shining blue object hurtled out of the darkness and onto its face. Immediately it was assaulted by tens of sharp icicles that pounded its scaly head, forcing it to release Cross and dislodging the young farmer's spear from it's mandible. Gasping for air and dodging the many spines that danced along the ground on all sides, Cross managed to grab his weapon and roll out from under the rain of spikes. Sensing his movement, the monster rolled over onto him and forced its open jaws downward. In a defensive move Cross pushed the shaft of his weapon out and it became pressed in the underground menace's jaws. Before he could act further, he was lifted into the air and swung about wildly as the monster became upright once again.

"Help! Throw- another- item, but do- SOMETHING!!!" he screamed, holding on for dear life.

"Angela get it to stop moving and I'll take care of the rest!" commanded Soren.

The young cleric nodded and set her jaw, preparing to engage the frightful foe before her. Emblazoned with courage at the dire sight of her friend she ran forward. Suddenly the fiend turned itself around fully, swinging a bony tail along the ground. Angela vaulted the sweeping extremity with startling timing, barely missing the protruding vertebrae, sprinted forward and jabbed the end of her staff into the back of the aggressive subterranean. The creature straightened at the impact, ceased to swing Cross around and that was when Soren struck.

"Cross, use whatever you've got left to wrap your legs around my axe!"

He positioned himself under Cross and placed his axe handle at the backs of the teen-ager's knees. The young man folded his legs tightly around the wood.

"Hold on _tight!!!_"

With a roar of herculean proportions Soren shifted his weight and somehow used Cross' body as a sort of lever to flip the creature over his head and through the air. The spines on its back collided with the roof, raining pebbles and dust upon them and a few snapped upon the vicious impact with the ground. It finally released it's grip on Cross and the young man stood shakily.

"Thanks for that... it feels like you nearly ripped me in half though."

"Sorry about that. But you should be thanking Angela, I couldn't have done it without her. She was _fantastic_ right there!"

"Why thank you Soren," Angela chimed in, stepping around the limp body before them, "you're always such a gentleman."

The desperate final move of the fight had left them with their backs turned to the river, with the creature splayed out, defeated, on the rocky floor of the cavern in front of them. As they were turning to go, the creature that they had mistaken for being unconscious began to stir. It secured its claws in the stone and twisted itself up, releasing a final triumphant howl as it swept its tail once again, this time hitting its mark. It brushed the three companions off of the cliff like ragdolls.

They each hit the churning water with a loud splash. Cross was an inexperienced swimmer and struggled to fight the powerful force of the water to reach the surface. He was pulled up by the muscular Soren, who supported him and still managed to best the mighty rapids they had plunged into. Angela's head was sputtering over the waves nearby. They were barely up long enough to breathe enough air when they reached the end of where the cavern had revealed the river and were sucked under the waves into a rocky tube that propelled the water at an amazing speed through the bowels of the earth. Just as Cross' lungs began to burn powerfully and he took a breath of pure water they were jetted out into open air.

They had entered another gigantic cavern beneath the cliffs, sliding down a rock cleft against one of the huge walls. Much of the gushing water flowed over the edge of the cleft and into the abyss below as it entered the chamber, and much of it continued to churn over the edge as they slid to the other side of the cavern. Glancing over the edge of the cleft, Cross observed the naturally formed cave. The walls were tinged blue-green from an unseen light source and covered in the veiny, bright webs reflected off of the water. Formed from limestone, the rocks were shaped strangely, in waves and ripples, stalagmites bigger than buildings projected from other platforms attached to the walls, and thousands of stalactites reached down from the roof, some even joining with the platforms to create huge, distorted pillars of stone. It was a beautiful place, but he didn't have enough time to appreciate it before he was pushed through a slot between two huge, flat rocks, down a chute and into a sandy bed.

Cross landed on his belly in a shallow pool with mushy sand underneath him, he coughed and glared up into the air. Sunlight was blasting down through an opening in a roof high above him, filling the space he had entered with deep orange light. His glee at the possibility of no longer being underground was squashed along with himself when Soren landed on him, then Angela. His cries of pain were reduced to a gurgle as his head was held beneath the water. The other two quickly jumped off of him and he rolled onto his back. As he regained calm once again, he was startled to notice many faces watching them, looking up from sifting through the sands at the base of the underground river runoff. They were mostly women, and seemed afraid of the crew that had washed unexpectedly down the chute that led from nowhere expect for deep below the surface of the planet.

"Oh, hey," groaned Cross, "do you know how we can get out of here... at all?"

* * *

**Before We Continue: I am not anti-religious, it's just a theme I am trying to explore with this story. A lot of games tend to have this whole thing where there is a God or something worshipped within the world of the game, but I have seen few where the inhabitants of the world are losing touch with their faith. It was just a "what if..." moment I had about LOD and it developed into this story, it isn't meant to offend anyone.**

**Anyway, chalk another one off. This chapter was fun to write, a little bit more action-based than some of the earlier ones. I'm trying really hard to get in some more characters and still have a good story progression, because it still isn't going to be for awhile that anybody actually gets their own Dragoon Spirit! Please bear with me, I'm trying to keep things interesting. I little Note thrown in, my own kind of tribute to Resident Evil, to raise the suspense a bit. And said Note is also a reference to a real life event identical to the one that happened to the poor minors, believed to be a case involving the Mothman, so I thought it would be cool to have in there. To learn about the incident if you're interested search up on the 'Freiburg Shrieker'.**

**Please R&R whether you like it or not, I can take the criticism. Don't leave Shin all by her lonesome on the review page!**


	7. Ville de Terre

**Disclaimer:** The content from which this fic is derived is copywritten... who knew?! But I can still claim the characters and what-not!

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Seven: Ville de Terre**

The demure people before them were making their abrupt arrival awkward. Cross had sat up in the silty pool and begun to fidget. He was beginning to think that they must speak another language because they hadn't yet replied. Even the usually eloquent and approachable Soren was at a loss for words. In every face around them they saw apprehension and fear - had they really startled everyone that bad? Were they dressed improperly? Cross checked himself over and discovered nothing unsatisfactory, then jumped when he heard a loud voice from the back of the crowd.

"Woah! Did you guys see that? Some people just came shooting out of the runoff!"

A short person pushed their way easily to the front of the assembly and approached the new arrivals.

"Where'd you -one, t- three come from anyway? You been living under the cliffs or something? That runoff honestly goes nowhere! An- hey, what've you got all that stuff for?"

She indicated their weapons with distaste and placed her hands on her hips. She was a few heads shorter than Cross and looked a bit younger.

"We _were_ under the cliffs alright," Cross responded, "it was a damn stupid idea, too. We fell in an underground river and got washed out here... we don't want to hurt anybody."

A sigh of relief passed through the gathered crowd and some of them returned to their work, gathering up their sieves and sifting through the muck beneath the clean water. Soren lifted his soaked traveling pack with a groan and carefully pulled out a stack of soaked parchment, inspecting it woefully.

"Did those get ruined?" Angela inquired worriedly.

"The ink hasn't run at all, thankfully, but I'll be damned if they make the rest of the journey..."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about a bunch of papers," assured the cheery, dark-skinned girl who greeted them, "you should just be glad you folks are alive! My Dad tells me that on the other side of this wall's a chasm that just goes on forever. You ought to be praising your lucky stars you didn't fall down there!"

She beamed hugely and laughed a bit, trying to warm up the newcomers.

"Say, you should probably come and meet my Dad... he's pretty high-up in town. Should probably let him know when someone new shows up, which is like never!"

They suddenly understood her excessive glee at their arrival. Apparently nobody new ever showed up in her nearby town, which was not a good sign. There was no indication that a town was situated anywhere on or in the Cliffs of Enki, if that's where they still were. She grabbed Cross' wrist with one orange hand and yanked him up off the ground. The young man groaned in surprise at how she was able to just _lift_ him up. _She must've gotten some good leverage or something... maybe I need to eat more_. She regarded him with a smile, then he noticed how trim and scantily-clad she was and blushed.

"What's the matter?" she said, "never seen a 'workin' girl' like me before? It keeps me in shape, ya know!"

She leaned towards him and laughed before admonishing a friendly strike to his shoulder. The blow rocked his arm and bruised it. _What the hell, I must be getting soft -she's not muscular at all! She must have a lot of definition..._ As she laughed he gave her a quick up-and-down and his eyes settled on her bare stomach, which was the home of a solid-looking six pack of abdominal muscles. _Woah, she really is in shape..._

He didn't realize that his eyes had been glued to the spot until he felt a rap against the back of his skull with a wooden object.

"Ow! Oh, what the," he turned to Angela, arms crossed and giving him a reproachful glare.

"It's impolite to stare, you know."

"I, uh, it... but, she -aw," he clumsily tried to explain himself and was ignored.

"Quit sputtering, there's no need to be embarrassed!" the other girl gave him another solid pat on the back, making his face pull back in an even sharper expression of pain and chagrin.

"You're pretty solid yourself. My name's Pearl, by the way," she smiled again, "nice to meetcha!"

She held out her hand and Cross jumped back with a yell, covering himself with his arms and clenching his eyes shut, "No, not again!"

When he opened one eye and saw her extended digits, he started to relax, but Soren beat him to the shake, stepping forward and nearly consuming her hand in one large paw.

"Nice to meet you as well, I'm Sor-YAW!" he yelled and pulled back, but was locked in Pearl's painful grip.

"Solid handshake ya got there! Nice to meet you, Sor-AW!" she laughed politely and released him.

With Soren retreating to massage his damaged hand, Angela came forward.

"I'm Angela," she said with little warmth, eyeing the young girl suspiciously.

"And I'm Cross," the young man butted in and, dropping his guard in his eagerness to introduce himself, shook her hand as well, with the same results.

"It's a pleasure to meetcha, _all_ of ya. Now I just need to gather my gear and we'll head up'n'out of this crevasse, and we'll practically be right in the middle of town. Bit of a hike, though..."

After that there was only a short wait as Pearl retrieved her sieve and a bandolier with some more equipment attached to it, then beckoned them to follow her. They walked to the opposite end of the floor of the opening in the earth and around a rock embankment to find a clear and slanting path leading upward out of the crevasse. The path wound up and around several rock pillars and even into a few caves, one of which opened up onto a cliff near the top of the huge, canyon-like cavern in the rock. They could see the tiny figures working below, the beautiful formations on the brown-orange walls that gave the indication of sandstone in places, accompanied by the strangely shaped, jutting formations of regular bedrock nearer the bottom. It was pretty high up, and Pearl did not linger near the edge for long, instead turning away with a shudder.

Soon they reached a flat area where they had to climb up a small ditch to reach the edge of the hole in the ground, pulling themselves out of the gorge and into the golden afternoon sun. The earth was more dusty here and the dry landscape was dotted with only a few pieces of desert vegetation capable of growing out of the rock, along with needlegrass and the occasional joshua tree. It was definitely atop the cliffs; the rocky land stretched on for leagues and from their high point the beginning of a more green plain was visible.

"Why are you guys looking over there? Turn around for the real view!"

Looking behind themselves, they were awestruck to find that just below the outcropping where they had emerged from the Crevasse was a valley, at the bottom of which stood many stone and clay buildings which seemed to have grown right out of the rocky ground, they blended in so well. The town spread towards a tall escarpment, where holes that must have served as more houses could be seen carved into the Cliffs of Enki and more buildings were built into the wall. They were sure that the edge of the cliffs, where they had just found the mining camp, was on the other side of the escarment.

"Wow, what a huge town, and it's so well-concealed too. That's amazing," Angela's voice dropped in awe of the view.

Pearl nodded. "Yeah, it helps when it's the only town in the world where opals are mined, among other things."

Soren glanced at her, stunned. "Opals are some of the most expensive jewelry in Endiness, I guess it would make sense that they only come from one place..."

"Exactly!"

They made their way into a weather-worn gulley that led straight to the bottom of the valley, and when they exited the path they found themselves on a trail leading down a main street of the large town, surprisingly abuzz with activity. The street took them towards the center of town, which turned out to be built into a similar pit in the earth as the Crevasse, with houses lining the outer walls, bringing their attention to the elaborate town hall at the bottom of the orifice.

"My house is down there," Pearl proudly stated, pointing to the far side of the admirably housed cistern, "it's kind-of around a corner, so you can't really see it from here, but it's one of the nicest ones."

"This is really something," Soren said venerably, "I would never have supposed you could build a town in a location like this, it surpasses most architectural standards of our time..."

"Woah, no need to use the big words, big guy," Pearl assured him, noticeably flustered by his language, "I'd tell ya how they made it, but this place was here a long time before I was born. It's even more amazing when you think that people built this a long time ago."

"It sure is," Cross managed to feign interest well enough. He was turned off by the fact that they were going below ground level once again.

"How are you even supposed to get to the houses on the inside of the gorge?" asked Angela with genuine curiosity, "it looks like they're built right into the rock... we don't have to climb, do we?"

Pearl laughed, "Oh no, you don't have to _climb_ at all, silly! Behind that stone is I guess you could say streets that go all the way around each level, and the entrances to each house on each level is on those streets. I'd like it more if it didn't mean we only get sun down there around noon, but that's why I'm always up here working. Come on, I'll show you."

She led them around the main street where Cross noticed that some people in town were beginning to recognize their unusual clothing, which seemed bright and flamboyant in comparison to the simple working garments of the inhabitants. A small clique of children was starting to gain size behind them, curiously observing their attire and equipment. Pearl eventually guided them down a wide staircase on the righthand side of the road. After every two flights there was an arched aperture leading onto a street surrounded on all sides by rock with doors every ten meters or so on the inside. After what they were told was the tenth flight they left the stairwell and strolled down one of the streets until Pearl stopped them in front of a lacquered wooden door. A plate nailed to the front read "Minister Tlalok".

"Your father's minister of this town?" Angela asked.

"Yep, that's not the highest position in town though. We have a governor who's above my Dad, and there are two other ministers like him. He really throws his weight around, though. You could kind of think of him as the 'Chief Minister' I suppose," Pearl glanced up and down the street quickly, "don't tell anyone that, though. If the other ministers found out, they might get mad at my Dad."

She opened the door and stepped into the cool home. The entry was a part of a large entrance hall that was completely furnished with chairs, upholstered couches and even beautifully woven rugs that covered the cold, hard floor. The air wasn't stuffy as one would expect underground, but airy and cool due to the glassless windows that made up most of the wall at the far end of the room. The architecture was suberb as Soren had guessed, with all of the walls in the room being round and smooth instead of any straight edges or corners.

"There's a kitchen to the left, and unlike most of the houses here ours has a downstairs," she gestured to a staircase, "where mine and my parents' rooms are. We've also got a guest room you can fight over."

The three travelers gazed around the wide open room for a moment before inspecting the kitchen with the stove, water basin and pantry. While they got comfortable, Pearl called out for her father and searched downstairs as well, only to return alone.

"My Dad's probably up in the mine right now. I'm gonna have to go get him, you can come if you like."

"Another mine? Forget it, I'll stay here," Cross quickly replied.

"Sure, I'll come along," Angela said, giving Cross a defiant look.

"I'll stay here, too. I need a nap, if you don't mind," Soren yawned.

"Go ahead and use the guest bedroom, Sor-AW," Pearl told him cheerily.

"It's Soren, actually, I don't know if I got that across-"

"Well you aught to be more clear then!"

"Rgh, you're just going to sleep?" Cross said irritably, "that'll be boring... I guess I'll come along with you two."

The three left the middle-aged man behind and made their way back up the stairs and onto the main street. Walking now towards the escarpment on the south side of town, Cross noticed shops for clothing and food, but no weapons; only mining equipment. He figured he could ask a blacksmith to forge him a new spear, but figured it would cost too much. Then he became confused as to why such a town would have shops to begin with.

"Uh, Pearl, if this town never has travelers visiting or anything, how come you have shops?"

"That's a funny question... what do you mean?"

"Well, you don't really have any farms around here, and if nobody ever comes... where does the food come from to sell? My guess is that people in this town are pretty close, so you don't really need money or anything, do you?"

"We have a funny way of dealing with money around here. The miners work day and night to find opals, earth metals and other gems -but the big commodity is opals- and give all of their findings to the Governor. Every so often we'll have a crew of merchants some by, 'cause only a few know about this place at all. You see, if they don't tell anyone else about this place they still get to clean up selling opals!"

"Why's that?"

"Ugh, don't you know anything about trading? Because opals are so rare, the few merchants that sell it are the only ones making money from it, and because they're the only ones, they get to price it as high as they want!"

"Oh, that's smart. So, your town stays a secret and the merchants get to make as much money as they like, is that right?"

"Now you got it!"

As they talked the looming cliffs approached, and with them a handmade system of stairs and stepladders leading up towards the first level, where some houses rested against the sturdy cliffside. People looking out of their windows would do a double-take upon seeing the ministers' daughter with two strange people, and the wide-open windows prevalent in their architecture made it obvious that they were staring. Taking another dusty path leading upwards, they reached a dead end with a dangling rope died down to a rock.

"What the hell? Where do we go from here?"

"Haha, you just do this, silly." Pearl gripped the rope, placing her feet on a knot in the thick intertwined fibers and called up, "Hello? Anyone up there?"

There was no answer.

"Hm, that's weird. Someone's always up there to release the pulley."

She detached the rope from the rock anchor and seemed to expect something to happen, but when nothing did, she said, "Hang on, this happens sometimes."

She began to pull herself up to wherever the rope came from with next to no effort. The muscles in her arm flexed but didn't even bulge as she used only those to pull herself far up onto the cliff, eventually disappearing above a platform. Squinting into the sky, Cross saw her arms reach out from her perch and do something to the pulley from which the rope dangled, then still gripping the rope, called down, "you both ready?"

Angela and Cross disconcertedly grasped the rope and placed their feet as Pearl had done on the knot. Cross wrapped one arm comfortably around Angela's waist and soon a hot slap wiped the smirk off his face. As they wondered what they were waiting for and Cross was rubbing his cheek they were suddenly and quickly jerked upward, flying past the huge boulder tied to the other end of the rope and stopping abruptly as the first knot jammed into the pulley.

"That was fun, wasn't it?"

Angela pried her eyes open to be face-to-face with the constantly smiling Pearl and noticed her own arms wrapped tightly around Cross' torso. He had a goofy smile on, but showed signs of being just as shaken by the sudden trip. She hastily stepped onto the platform that was outside of one gaping hole in the side of the cliff. One glance over the edge told her that they were also on the highest one on the escarpment.

They went into the mouth and soon reached a huge shaft leading straight down the inside of the cliff, and probably further below. The cavern was well-lit by torches and light poured in through the various other holes in the side of the pit. The mining crew were being lifted into and out of the shaft by similar counterweight devices to the one outside that had been anchored to either the roof or hooks on the inside of the shaft. From where they were, a path led around the outside of the pit to a tunnel on either side which led to similar shafts that, according to Pearl, were still being dug out.

"What do you do with all of the rock that gets dug out of here?" asked Angela.

"We grind it up and get ore out of it, there's still so much that we get out of this rock, but the big deposits are far down; that's what we really go for."

"How are we going to find your dad in here?"

"He's probably at the foreman's station," she pointed down into the shaft, "right at the bottom of here."

"Oooh, if you told me I'd have to go down someplace like that twice today, I'd have told you that you're crazy. And you are. You two go down, but meet me back up here, alright?"

"Aw, come on you wuss. Don't you want to see the mines of Enkia? They're so cool!" Pearl asked.

"N-n-no! Last time I went in a mine I wound up almost getting killed, not to mention losing my m-m-mind! Just ask her," he looked at Angela for help.

Angela returned his look with a dismissive and challenging glare of her own. "Yeah, you big wuss. What makes you think this mine will be as bad as the last one?"

Cross' jaw dropped at her mockery of him, but he quickly tried not to look as shocked as he was.

"Fine, fine, fair enough. You got me, I'm _afraid_ of going underground, but I'm seriously not coming this time, okay!!"

"You are such a chicken! Come on Pearl, let's try to take as long as possible so he gets really bored."

Pearl looked confused at their sudden combativeness but followed Angela to a nearby rope. As they both grabbed ahold of the strong fiber, Angela whispered to her, "Try to really embarass him more before we go down. I can tell this is really bothering him."

As the rope began to descend into the shaft below, they both turned to him and started waving and calling:

"See ya in a bit scaredy-cat!"

"Be back soon, chicken-wuss!"

Cross waved back with a look of mortification and noticed a group of nearby miners laughing at him, causing dust to billow off of their sullied clothes in a cloud as they prepared to leave for the day. He sighed and waited in humiliation.

Halfway down the pit Pearl seemed shy for the first time before asking Angela a question.

"So where are you guys even from?"

"All over the place, I'm from Lohan. Cross tells me he's from a farm in Serdio and Soren... I don't know a lot about him except that he's really smart."

"Yeah, seems that way... what do you think about Cross?"

Angela began without much thought to the question. "He can be a little moody... wait, what do you mean?"

"Oh, just the way you two behave around each other. Like a couple of little kids, it's actually kinda funny. The way you look at him makes it a little obvious..."

"What? Makes what a little obvious?"

"Hm," Pearl giggled a little, "nothing. Don't worry about it."

Angela didn't really have any idea what the young girl was trying to get at, but Pearl couldn't understand just from the clothes that she was wearing that life in a convent had left Angela blunt to this sort of thing. She really didn't know if she liked Cross in the way Pearl was implying or not, in fact the thought hadn't really passed through her mind, and she certainly wasn't able to deduce how Pearl felt from her simple question.

"How old are you anyway, Pearl?" she suddenly asked, simply out of curiosity.

"Wha- well," Pearl seemed abashed again, "I'm only fifteen, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Worry about _what_? What do you keep telling me not to worry about?" Angela was a little irritated by this, but was still managing to not let it show in her speech. She didn't know that Pearl had taken her question in a way she hadn't intended.

Abruptly they stopped and both nearly fell over at the sudden, unexpected impact with the ground. Pausing for a moment to gain her bearings, Angela changed her stance and faced Pearl.

"Why are you acting so strange all of a sudden? And how come you're not telling me what it is that I should be worrying about?"

"Well, it was just," she wouldn't meet Angela's eyes and spoke with a low voice, "it seems like you and Cross like each other, but I wasn't sure and I kinda-"

They were interrupted by a deep and absolutely jubilant voice nearby.

"PEARL! Baby, it's so sweet of you to visit me down here!"

From a nearby wooden table with a lamp and several rolled parchments spread out on top of it, a man of comparable size to Soren had lifted his dust-veiled face in their direction and called to the teen-aged girl, a toothy white grin spread across his face. He spread his arms and began heading in their direction.

"Hey Daddy!" Pearl erupted with joy and ran into the man's waiting arms to exchange a warm embrace.

"How was work in the Crevasse today, baby? Did you find anything good, eh?" the man had the same genuine, huge smile as his daughter and the bustling, energetic attitude of a proud father.

"No, not really Dad," she told him, laughing, "but I came down here to tell you something important."

She took her father by the hand and led him over to Angela, who had been waiting patiently through their joyous meeting.

"This girl and two men came right out through the runoff we made at the bottom of the Crevasse, Dad, and I knew right away that I should tell you because... well, I didn't know what else to do."

"Great, you did the right thing baby," he assured her, ruffling her bleach-blonde hair before turning to Angela, "I'm Jayson Tlalok, Minister of Enkia. Well, one of them at least."

"Angela," the priestess politely introduced herself, curtsying instead of shaking the dirty miner's hand.

Withdrawing his palm and wiping it on his sleeveless shirt, Jayson continued, "Pleasure. Well, where are the other two? They didn't get lost down here did they?"

"No, sir, my... comrade, Cross, is at the top of the mine and Soren, the other one-"

"Is back at home taking a nap!" Pearl finished, regarding Angela's use of the word 'comrade' instead of 'companion' or even 'friend'.

"Baby, it's rude to interrupt," her father admonished, "and we ought to get back home then, these three should meet the Governor right away if they want to keep on where they were going. Was your mother home when you got there?"

"No."

"Well she might have a bit of a surprise waiting for her then. Some strange guy sleeping around the house! Haha, just picturing that's a riot. Come on, then, let's get you back."

Together they rode two separate pulleys back to the entrance of the mineshaft. Cross was seated with his legs crossed at the mouth of the cavern with his chin resting in the palms of his hands. Angela gave him a light kick in the back.

"Ohhh, watch it, man!" The farmer stood up and turned around in fury, then apologized when he noticed who was behind him. After being introduced to Pearl's father they were instructed to all four stand on the separate knots of the rope, causing their combined weight to drop them lightly to the ground and reposition the counterweight.

Upon entering the Tlalok home they found Soren seated on a couch near a window, looking uncomfortable as the sounds of cooking emanated from the kitchen. Who they assumed to be Pearl's mother emerged from around the corner, supporting the wooden water basin with both hands. Their suspicion was confirmed when Jayson took the wooden tub from the woman and planted a brief but passionate kiss on her lips.

"I see you've brought the rest of the guests, dear. Your friend told me that you must be Cross? And you're Angela, of course. I've already begun making the meal and you're all invited to stay if you please."

Pearl's mother had a small frame like her daughter but a distinctly more withdrawn, urbane and punctilious personality than the one her husband and child shared. Everyone was offered a seat on the couch once Soren introduced himself in the usual gracious manner and the Tlalok family had left to complete various chores for the sake of their guests.

"I'm glad you two have finally returned. I have to say it was getting a little awkward here with the young lady's mother," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "we didn't exactly meet on the most auspicious grounds."

"What are you talking about, 'auspicious'?"

"Well I was napping on the couch here," Soren shifted in his seat and leaned in closer to drop his voice and still be heard, "and I guess she got home and thought I was some derelict or larcenist and proceeded to assault me with some cooking tools. When I awoke I was so flabbergasted I had to restrain her and before I could explain myself, she..."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat again and did a weird sort of semi-hand-gesture indicating his crotch.

"Let's just say I'm going to be seated for the rest of the night, alright?"

Cross burst out laughing and rocked in his chair, holding his sides. Angela had either missed the whole hand gesture thing or didn't understand what had happened at all, because she didn't laugh. When Pearl's mother retreated to the downstairs, Cross stifled his laughing and leaned forward.

"You mean you grabbed her and she, mmf, she -kyaha! _nailed you in the balls-_"

"Yeah, okay! Just be quiet!"

Cross fell back into his chair and began laughing hysterically again, only harder now that Soren was sitting with his arms crossed and an extremely sour look on his face. He hardly spoke another word until dinner was served, and even then rarely brought his gaze up from his plate.

* * *

During the meal Cross remembered something he had forgotten since before they were in the mine.

"Pearl, earlier I asked you if Enkia had any use for money, and while you gave me some useful information, I'm afraid you didn't really answer my question."

"Well, it's a little hard to explain... Dad could probably tell you better than I could."

Jayson brought his head up from a particularly engaging bout with his noodles.

"What's that, baby?"

"I told Cross earlier today about the way we trade with the merchants from outside, but he wanted to know if we used money from them in the shops or anything," she turned her attention back to her own food.

"Ah, that's an interesting point. She told you that the Governor deals with most of the trading, right? Well, he usually gets the other Ministers to negotiate along with him, you see they're better at that sort of thing. I tend to just run the mine under the Governor's supervision. Anyway, instead of receiving money, we tend to trade for food, supplies and materials. This place requires a lot of maintenance and we have to keep everyone fed. That's the only outside help we need. Now, every miner in this town gets a guarantee in exchange for all that he provides for the traders, and that guarantee is for the food that the Governor distributes to the shops. Basically in this town if you work, you get fed, you get a house, and that's it. It's a simple way to live, but we're honestly better off because of it."

They continued to eat and Cross pondered as he did so. _Living without money... a lot of people would __say that that's unheard-of. But it can't be so bad. These people all seem closer, happier because they __don't rely on money. And look at what the value of money has done to the rest of the world. I wonder how many gold coins __**my home**__ was worth. I guess that's why they choose to stay hidden. There are so many things from outside of their little town that could corrupt their way of life... thieves and murderers, things that don't even seem possible in here._

"And how do you decide who decides for you? I mean, how does the governor get his position? Is he born into it?" He asked.

"Feeling a bit inquisitive tonight, Cross?" Soren teased him.

"Feeling a bit _ballsy_ tonight, Soren ol' buddy?" Cross shot back with an eyebrow raised. The lumberjack shifted uncomfortably.

"Haha, it's alright! It's good to have someone so interested in our little Enkia, right honey?" Jayson gleefully answered with no response from his wife, "we actually elect our governor, do you know what that is?"

"No."

"Everyone gets to decide who it is," interjected Angela, "everyone in town has a say, and whoever has the most people on their side gets the position. It's called a majority."

"Correct! We've got a bunch of scholars here, eh? Anyway, we elect the Governor here and he keeps his position until either he dies or gives it up. Then a new one is elected, usually chosen from the three current Ministers, and when one of them reaches power, he appoints a minister to take his place."

"Daddy would have been Governor right now, but he wasn't even a Minister when our current one was already elected."

"Pearl, you shouldn't say that baby. At least Governor Donovan was nice enough to make me the new minister when he got elected, and I think he makes a pretty good one. A little strict, though..."

"Yeah, strict enough to make it so that I couldn't work in the mine anymore! Did you ever talk to him about that?"

"Of course I did Pearl, but you know that he told me to do that to keep you and the other children safe-"

"I'm perfectly safe down there! I'm strong, a good worker and I never mess up!"

"But you got other kids thinking they could go down there and work like you, and that _isn't _safe, baby. Not everyone is as strong or savvy in that mine as you are, Pearl, let me tell you that right now. A lot of _men_ in that mine could learn a thing or two from you, and I mean that without the least bit of boastfulness. But the other kids-"

"Then the other kids should be the ones banned from working in the mines, not me. I just want to work where you do, Dad."

Cross felt a pang in his chest at that. He knew the feeling, wanting to show your father how much you wanted to do exactly what he did, that you could be good at it like him. He could tell that Pearl's father was proud of her, but she wanted him to be proud in their workplace, the only place where they could make a living, and together. That was a completely different and more fulfilling pride than what seems inherent in all parents for every little thing their child manages to do. He felt a lump form in his throat and shoved more food in to stifle it.

"I don't want to have this conversation right now, Pearl. Not while we have company," Jayson concluded, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

Pearl merely snorted, crossed her arms and pouted her lips in exasperation.

"Well, that was a lovely meal, thank you!" Soren hurriedly praised and stood to help Mrs. Tlalok clear the dishes, only to groan and stiffen as he felt a pain in his loins. Cross fell out of his chair laughing.

* * *

The night had worn on and Jayson had decided to postpone their meeting with the Governor until the next day. The travelers had then settled in with the family for an evening of conversation. Soren had made it particularly scintillating but it managed to bore Cross enough that he wandered into the cellar. at the foot of the stairs he turned down a hallway with two doors on either side._ I suppose I'll have to guess which one is the guest room._ He had second thoughts on that, not wanting to unknowingly enter either Pearl's or her parents' rooms. Upon noticing that there was a fourth door and his chances were half-and-half, he decided to take the far door on his right-hand side.

Opon settling his fingers on the handle he felt a strange tingle travel up his arm that he could neither explain nor identify, but he enjoyed it. On the other side of the door he found a bare room minus a couple of shelves, and another huge window taking up the far side of the room. His eyes eventually settled upon a strange, thin pedestal that seemed to have been built as part of the room. It rose from the floor, tapered in the middle and thickened at the top again, because fitted into an orifice at the top was a brilliant golden stone. When he stepped the rest of the way into the room, it began to glow faintly. He felt whatever force had sent a tingle through him pushing him away, like it was reaching right through to his heart and pushing him from there. But it also seemed to be urging him forward, and he fought the push to observe it closer.

He only made it a few steps before the faint glow intensified into a dazzling radiance that sent cascades of shining gold light outward. He took a step back in alarm, and bumped into Jayson, who had entered the room behind him.

"I see you found our treasure," he murmured.

"Trea-? Well, I guess I did, but I just thought this was the guest room."

"Don't be so nervous. I'm not suspicious of you, unless you give me reason to be," he continued in the same gentle, reverent voice.

"What is it?"

"It's something that many would like to have, but none appreciate it as much as we do. In this town it's seen as an idol, it's what brings us plentiful amounts of opal and keeps us safe from the outside. Look."

Cross approached the window and saw that the pedestal was situated so that anyone within the inner ring of the city could either see the orb itself or the beautiful glow it cast. He glanced down to the nearby Town Hall, where people were walking on the broad roof, those noticing the light kneeling and offering praise. He could feel something about this idol as well, but what it was he knew nothing about except that it was benevolent. Feeling that the longer he stayed where this feeling was, the more he could understand it, he got the sensation of becoming one with his surroundings, and that scared him enough to snap out of it.

"How'd you come across such a thing?" he asked in an enchanted and distant voice.

"It's been in this town for generations. The last person to have it was our previous Governor, and right after I moved here from Bale, I got in pretty close with him. Just before he died, he told me that he wanted me to have it. Donovan... recognized our friendship and made me Minister in his place. I try to live up to it. I really do. Right after I got it from him, my wife and I had Pearl. Things have only gotten better since then."

"That's quite a story... quite a happy story."

"Mmhm, that it is. And if I have anything to thank for my own fortune, it's this thing. You feel it too, right? A sort of comfort? Like you belong with it..."

_Yeah, I have the feeling. Except it's pushing me away and it scares me a little._

"Come on, if you're going to sleep you might as well say goodnight to everybody."

"Hm, I guess you're right."

Jayson left the room but Cross stood in the doorway for a while longer, staring at the idol as the brilliant light faded, but did not die. _Is it just me or did that thing react to... him? No, that's too strange._

Upstairs everyone was in good spirits, gathered around, laughing at old tales and stories about themselves. Jayson sat himself heavily next to his daughter and wrapped one muscular arm around her, pulling her in for a loving hug.

"I told you all yet how me 'n Katina named this beautiful young lady? Well, there was this old sailor who lived here after, I dunno, 800 years in the navy? Anyway we get him down in the mine, diggin up opals, and he's goin on about this stuff ain't nobody ever seen called mother of pearl, 'cept instead of comin from the earth this stuff comes out of these little sea critters. He calls the opals 'pearls of the earth' because he says they kinda look the same. Well I got kinda close with the guy, and he sorta became a friend of the family. And when me and Katina found out she was pregnant, he comes out of nowhere before we've even told anyone, right dear?"

"Of course."

"And he hands me this package, I open it up and it's this mother of pearl stuff he's been talking about! And it looks just like the opals we get down in the mine! I was just stunned, and before I can even thank him he tells me it's his only one he's got left, and he knew we should have it somehow... then he left. The next day we found out he had passed on, so we made it into this little figurine that's on top of the town hall now, and once everyone's seen it they start callin opals 'pearls of the earth', too! So it was kinda like the old guy's legacy, you know? Well, me 'n Katina were talking one time, and we realize that what he left us gave a new value to those opals that are so important to the survival of our little town... well I'm bad at explainin it, but that's how our little Pearly here got her name, 'cause she's even more important to me than-"

"Aw, Dad, that was such a sappy story! Why'd you have to tell everyone that?"

"Oh, you know it's a nice story!"

Pearl elbowed her father and he released her from his enormous hug to rub his side. He continued to smile, however, showing his pride over his daughter in every glossy white tooth.

"I thought it was a beautiful story Mr. Tlalok," Angela encouraged.

"Yeah, I wish I had a meaning behind my name," Cross added. _My old name, anyways..._

* * *

The morning after got off to a slow start. Cross had used the second bed in the guest room but slept little since there were no windows in the earthy chamber. He proved jumpy and irritable during breakfast but found his manners soon after gorging himself on the plentiful meal. Shortly after the meal was finished Jayson told them to prepare for their meeting with the town Governor. A wash and a quick drink later, they were on their way down the enclosed staircase leading to the very bottom of the town's center. Leaving the aperture where no further stairs descended, they found themselves in the morning shade at the base of the depression, looking up at the sleepy houses framing the view of the still-waking purple sky. Directly ahead of them was the dome-like Town Hall, with stairs leading onto the roof beside a broad entrance.

The interior of the Hall proved to be simple enough. The main foyer served as a meeting hall that could probably fit the entire township as far as Cross was concerned, with long benches and a podium at the head of the aisle. It reminded him of a church, and he found it rather sickening. To their left was a meeting room for the Ministers and the Governor and to their right was a short hallway with doors leading to the Governor's office, a storage room and a secretary's office.

"Why do you have a secretary in a separate room?" Cross asked the burly Chief Minister.

"He's just a paper-pusher. Manages all the town documents. We're a lot more organized than you think!"

Cross and the others found themselves waiting in the hallway for little over ten minutes while Jayson discussed with the Governor about who he had brought and what to do about them. He opened the door with a serious look on his face, one arm positioned formally behind his back.

"Right this way."

The office itself was nothing special. An oak desk, two shelves on either side stacked with dusty volumes, several chairs, and a thin, pale, marble statue of a man standing in front of the polished oak desk.

"This is Governor Donovan, ladies, uh, lady and gentlemen. You've met him before, Pearl."

The young miner gave the Governor a stern nod which he seemed to pay no mind to, but he introduced himself to each of the three travelers in turn. There was clearly a wide age gap between himself and Jayson, and he also had an air of authority that made him seem cold and strict by comparison.

"Thank you for that introduction, Minister Tlalok. I assume you three got a good look around town? Peaceful, isn't it? That's just how we like it, and just how it ought to stay. That's why we take the arrival of outsiders very seriously around here."

They all showed him their absolute attention. His seriousness had swept away the lighthearted mood of the morning and left them anxious and attentive to this municipal leader.

"I'm glad to hear that you've all been well accommodated by our Minister and his family, but know that while we mean you know ill intent, you are not welcome here."

Cross stiffened at that remark. He had been grateful for the hospitality and warmth he had been shown in this town, but it all seemed like a facade to hide what this stern political figurehead was telling them now.

"We're very strict about the integrity of our towns' secrecy. Aside from merchants, the only people to ever arrive here do not leave. Being newcomers, you have gained no trust from either myself or any other officials in this town, and it is my regret to inform you that we cannot allow you to leave."

* * *

**Bet that ended when you weren't expecting it to. There was a change of pace in this chapter; a lot more dialogue. I'm glad there was a little more character development able to get squeezed in there, and a few other things to keep it from being too boring. Hope you liked it, because after the next chapter things are _really_ going to pick up! I'm looking forward to it...**

**R&R you awesome folks reading my fic!**


	8. Earth God Relinquished

**Disclaimer:** You know how it is, I don't own this game! And unless you _do_, I don't think you should have a problem with that.

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter Eight: Earth God Relinquished**

The silent room was filled with a palpable tension. An incredulous look of shock was spread across the faces of the lumberjack and three teenagers, but Jayson had affized a solemn gaze to the floor of the room. Governor Donovan regarded them all with a stony gaze devoid of whatever emotion he could possibly have felt after such a demand. A groan of rage slowly cracked the silence of the room like a fissure working its way through solid stone.

"What makes you think that you can stop us from leaving if we want?!" Cross exploded, discarding all respect or fear of the town leader with his fierce accusation.

"You're in our town now, so you'll follow our rules! I already said that we don't trust you, we have no reason to. How can you expect us to allow you to leave knowing that you may very well reveal the secret of our town?" Donovan's voice boomed in the small room.

"Know what else you said? You said that we're _not welcome_, and now you're forcing us to stay here? When unwelcome people are forced to stay somewhere it just says 'prison' to me, and I'm not letting you throw me in some goddamn cell!"

"You're underestimating how important it is that we reach Fletz," Soren added, folding his arms in front of his chest, "and it's important enough that we'll fight our way out of here if we have to."

Donovan was taken aback by the big man's threat, and the unease that crept into his facial expression was enough to make the bravest soldier glance over his shoulder.

"You would do that? Come to a city that has shown you nothing but hospitality, disobey their rules and then hurt its citizens on your way out the door? You see, this is why we have these laws, to keep away outsiders like yourselves who would cause us harm."

"You're not giving us much of a choice!" Angela pointed out, "we never said that we wouldn't keep this place a secret, and you never gave us a chance to earn your trust."

Looking into their angry and desperate faces, Donovan took a deep breath and nodded, rubbing a palm across his liver-spotted forehead.

"Fine, then. Explain yourselves."

"Not far from here," Soren began, glaring out through a curtain of rust-coloured hair, "and it's important that you know, there is an army of a magnitude we have yet to determine destroying everything in its path. They burned down acres of forest-"

"And destroyed hundreds of farms," Cross interrupted in a flinty voice.

"It is obvious that the royal family of Izezuza will learn of this, in fact they probably have already, but we have evidence to confirm that it was the Church of Soa that not only allowed but ordered such a holocaust."

Again the room was rendered soundless from the disquieting statement. Pearl hadn't spoken for some time, but now she stepped forward.

"Why didn't you say anything? What did you have to keep from us?"

Jayson, too, looked up at them with a sobering gleam in his eyes.

"Last night you -_we_ were all so happy. How do you think we would have all felt after telling you about our ordeals, putting our burden on you to consider? No, we had nothing to keep from you except for what would have frightened your family, or even your whole town."

The governor raised his head, this time with a determined look in his eyes.

"This is true? This is really why you were traveling through here in the first place?"

"We weren't 'passing by', we got here by accident; because of a stupid idea. And of course it is true, it's probably the most important thing any of us has ever had to do," Cross' voice changed from confrontational to a comforting tone as he spoke.

"I see now that this involves much more than just our precious town... the lives of others are at stake, and justice will once again be cast into the law volumes of our history for the sake of more killing, unless your message reaches its mark. I thought I was being unselfish by trying to protect the people of my city, but now..."

"Please don't say that, Governor," Angela protested, "it's thinking like that which made us not want to tell you in the first place. You were just doing what you thought was right."

The elderly official smiled at her.

"Child, as time goes on you will realize that just _thinking _that something is right does not make it so. And that is why my actions were wrong. I'm sorry for any alarm I may have caused you all."

"We understand," Cross reassured.

"I will allow you to leave Enkia, but before you go I am going to do something we have never done here, and may never do again."

He went to the far side of his desk and shuffled through a drawer for a few moments before producing a package wrapped in brown cloth. Jayson and his daughter gasped at the sight of the parcel.

"Every few years we have enough extra ore for our blacksmiths to fuse into a powerful alloy. It makes the longest-lasting, strongest and most coveted tools in town, maybe even in the whole world."

Unraveling the cord binding the package as he spoke, he gently lifted the cloth away to reveal a block of shimmering pink metal concealed within. The colour progressed from a brilliant, electric rose to a nearly white tone in waves and streams, like they had melded thousands of pristine flower petals into a block of solid ocean waves.

"We can't take this from you, it's far too valuable," Angela protested upon sight of the beautiful combination, no bigger than a brick.

"It's _because_ it is valuable that you have to take it with you. Keep it close, and as long as you have it to admire, remember us. Remember the promise. We're all depending on it. I trust you."

He practically forced the package into her hands and turned away before she could protest. He walked behind his desk and seemed to be admiring the wall behind it, facing away from them and not allowing them to see his distress at actually bringing himself to do such a thing.

"Jayson, please take them to the city limits and make sure they know where to go from there. Goodbye, and good luck."

* * *

Cross had returned to the fourth room of the Tlalok residence soon after arriving back from the town hall to observe the brilliant idol. He had been glad that Donovan had given them permission to continue their journey, but it was a bittersweet victory. He felt petty for having taken their valuable alloy, but nonetheless felt fortunate to be in posession of it. Maybe he would have it made into something later on, perhaps a figurine or even a tool, as it surely would have been had they not taken it. He did not brood over it, though. The shining orb protecting the town was fueling other thoughts.

_What would happen to me if I touched it? _He asked himself.

_Do it and find out_, a familiar voice not unlike his own returned.

_It tries to keep me away... I don't know if it would hurt me or not. The light is so beautiful... I only want to know what it **feels** like._

_Don't be stupid. It's just some rock they probably dug up. They wouldn't have it in their house if it could hurt anyone. Go ahead, satisfy yourself, for once._

"For... once?" He said out loud. He had leaning against the wall next to the door so that he couldn't be surprised again, but now stood up and made his way towards the idol. As he got closer he could feel the strange force resisting him, but it wasn't strong enough to keep him away. _It's more of a mental thing_, he continued to think, _it's not really pushing my **body** away._

His hand left his side and held itself over the orb, fingers stretched wide to take on any sensation that the strange object could be giving off. Nothing. He brought his hand slowly down to the surface of it, then rested his fingertips on the amazingly smooth surface. To his surprise, the faint golden light died out, and after a few moments he felt a hardening sensation on the tips of his fingers as they absorbed the energy given off by the artifact. As the feeling crept up his fingers towards his palm he abruptly drew back and stared at his own hand.

_Hmm, nothing out of the ordinary_, he observed, turning the slightly dirty hand and finding absolutely nothing changed on the surface.

_Yeah, if you find your hand feeling like it's turning into a rock ordinary, that would be correct._

_That was weird, wasn't it? I didn't like it at all._

Any explanation for what the idol was or what it could do evaded him as his thoughts raced and he continued to stare at his own hand. Then he remembered standing on top of the town hall, gazing at a similar pedestal on top of which was a small figurine composed of every colour imaginable glimmering off of each other. It had been exquisitely crafted into a sad-faced mermaid, out of place in the arid and dry mining town, every thought of her home in the sea etched into her eyes, which surely would have been tearful had she been real. Her only remnant of home was a huge wave breaking behind her, sending up a churning spray of spectral brilliance that surely would have brought the scent of the sea to any sailors' nostrils. Cross looked down and out of the window to see Donovan alone on the roof below, kneeling with his head bowed and surely asking the Earth God of the orb to tell him he had done the right thing.

_He should be looking to the statue for comfort, at least that thing has some meaning behind it. **This** thing is just a useless sphere that defies explanation... like everything people find worthy of worship._

He bitterly turned away from the window and headed for the door, stepping through the hatch and taking one last peek at the sphere before securely closing the door behind him.

* * *

Only a few minutes after Cross had left the revered room had light from the orb been completely snuffed as it stood silent on its pedestal, accompanied only by the thoughts of the townsfolk and the prayers of Donovan below. The room was faintly lit by the brightening morning light that made its way in from outside, and the gloom of the space was surprisingly unbecoming of the valuable treasure. The solitude would not last long, however.

A row of hooked claws crept over the upper edge of the window sill and yet a second clawed hand reached over the edge to dig its talons into the stone roof of the room. A figure pulled itself inside, still clinging to the roof, and flipped its legs down before finally dropping to the floor without a sound. A cloth-draped head glanced left and right looking for any sign of detection, light reflecting off of its green, domed glass eye coverings. It's garments were a light brown save for the green goggles in order to blend in with the buildings of Enkia, for this figure had obviously well-planned and thought about this dastardly theft. As it stood and reached its clawed hands menacingly over the dull ball, the second door into the room was kicked open and split into pieces upon impact with the wall.

Jayson stepped out of his own room, sporting a look of pure rage and effortlessly twirling a sword easily the same size as himself.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before some bastard like you showed up. Well it's not going to be that easy!"

The figure remained still and regarded him silently. Jayson gripped his massive weapon in one hand and extended the other.

"Come on!!!"

* * *

Stepping out into the sheltered street leading away from the Tlalok's home, Cross felt utterly repugnant about leaving their town on such a note, but hoped that he could leave any sorrowful feelings behind. He knew it was probably impossible. Soren and Angela were waiting partway up the street and Pearl was with them.

"I'm sorry that you guys had to deal with that before you go," she apologized, "I don't really like Donovan, but I had no idea he would try to keep you all here."

"That's fine," Angela said cheerily but without a smile, "we kind of feel bad too for getting aggressive like that."

"Yes, asserting myself has always been a forte of mine, but I do feel rather abhorrent after doing such a thing."

"There you go with those big words again," Pearl sighed. She lifted her eyelids and saw Cross approaching.

"There you are, slowpoke. Not only are you a wuss, but you're lazy, too!"

"Whatever," he ignored that she was trying to lighten the mood and even flirt a little, "besides, your dad isn't here to see us off anyway. We're going to be waiting for a little longer."

"Now your just being a drag," she scorned.

"I _feel_ like I'm being dragged, let me tell you. It just seems like it's going to be a long time before something good happens that doesn't get ruined right after it does."

"Maybe when we reach Fletz we'll have a break," Angela comforted.

"Yeah, _maybe_," he trailed off again.

They were all startled and rousted from their bad mood when someone started shouting at them from down the street. Cross turned around and saw Katina, Pearl's mother, running up the stony tunnel towards them. Pearl shot past him towards her and the three travellers followed shortly after. They found the otherwise quiet woman in a slight panic.

"Jayson told me to come get you," she informed them with alarm, "he says there's someone in the house!"

"Someone's in _our house_!? How could they have gotten in, there's only one door-"

"I asked your father the same thing but he told me to come and get you all, and Donovan too. He said they were after the idol!"

Without another word Pearl ran for the house.

"You two get Donovan, we'll help Mr. Tlalok!" Cross commanded before slapping Soren on the shoulder and running off after Pearl with the huge man in tow.

The three rushed through the house and into the cellar, Cross getting through the door before the others, first thing he saw was Jayson leaning on the hilt of a huge sword, bleeding from five parallel gashes on his shoulder as well as his thigh. He turned to the youth entering the room, revealing two more cuts down his face that were bleeding fiercely.

"Don't come in here, Pearl! He's too dangerous, baby!"

_He? Who the hell is **he**?_

Cross soon answered his own question upon viewing a brown-clad person clinging to the roof in a far corner of the room. Whoever it was, their clothes blended in so well that Cross had missed them at first. The ninja held one claw forward that was still dripping with Jayson's blood and stared at them all with insectile green eyes.

"Watch out, dammit, he's fast!"

The intruder, realising the disadvantage at being outnumbered, tried to jump out of the window and Jayson leaped forward, using his weapon with amazing speed to knock the ninja back into the room. Somehow the assailant had blocked the powerful attack and recovered with great speed, planting one claw on the golden orb, flipping around it and kicking Jayson in the face, knocking him back. Continuing the swift movement, the ninja twisted itself around and over the pedestal, breaking the idol out of its orifice and crouching flexibly on the narrow stand to shove the orb into it's tunic. While taking care to stow the precious item safely, it was attacked by Cross with wide sweeps of his spear to keep the agile attacker at bay. When his guard was down, the deadly thief flipped over his weapon with outstretched claws, only to be knocked aside with the blunt end of Soren's axe.

"Why the hell didn't you chop him?!"

"I've got some questions for this swine!"

The big man stepped forward aggressively and dodged a vicious claw swipe from the ninja, then sidestepped a donkey kick from a foot armed with a climbing spike. When the attacker swiped at him again, he narrowly parried the blow before Cross appeared and jabbed with his lengthy spear, tearing through their enemies' garment and spilling out the precious orb. Too quick for anyone to stop, the ninja dove for the idol, grabbed it in midair, rolled and jumped out of the window, grasping a nearby house and scurrying away.

"Shit! Get some guards or something after that guy! And we need a doctor in here!"

Cross picked up the only remnant of their stealthy foe, the scrap of cloth he had torn away with his own weapon, and gripped it tightly in his fist upon sight of the embroidered blue insignia within.

* * *

An hour later everyone had piled into Jayson's room to watch as the local doctor patched his wounds while also forcing the miner to drink a serum of a sickly color. The search by Donovan's men had turned up nothing, and they were now positive that the theif had made off for good with the invaluable stone.

"It looks to me that whatever was on those weapons, it had a strong anticoagulant in it, as well as a neurotoxin, both of which were natural. The neurotoxin must have been calciseptine, because it attacked his muscles instead of his nerves, and our boy here must be pretty strong because I don't know what kept it from immobilizing him, much less killing him. Anyway, he's lost a lot of blood and his body is going through a state of expulsion to get out those toxins, which will be messy to say the least. Keep him from moving so his wounds don't reopen and make sure he drinks a lot of water, and you'll be lucky if he's even mobile again within a few weeks."

"Thank you, Shawn," Katina told the doctor as he left the room. She had been seated in a chair near a window at the head of the bed with her face buried in her palms as the treatment of her husband wore on. Now she stood to guide the doctor out of the house.

The room was deathly quiet after she left. Pearl was kneeling at her father's side, staring intently at his heavily bandaged face and trying not to cry. Donovan stood behind her looking like he really could have been frozen as a marble statue forever, staring solemnly downward with his hands locked behind his back and his mouth pulled into a frown. Angela, Cross and Soren were in a row against the wall adjacent to the door, each plainly representing a distinct emotion. Soren was in deep contemplation, obviously trying to deduce the nature of the theft and the possible whereabouts of the culprit. Angela was gazing at the father and daughter with great pity in her eyes, and Cross' eyes burned with a fire that spoke volumes of the rage coursing deep within him. Suddenly a tired and weak voice whispered from the bed.

"Hey, baby..."

"Daddy! It's so good to hear your voice, I thought you weren't..."

She began to weep and buried her face in the covers to hide it. The burly minister reached over to give her a comforting nudge.

"Come on, baby, I'm okay..."

"The doctor said not to move, Dad, it'll only make your wounds worse."

Jayson had been straining enough just to touch her, and gave up with visible difficulty, groaning and gasping for air as he slumped back into the bed. He eventually opened his unbandaged eye and it immediately settled on Cross.

"Did you get him?"

The youth flinched at his question, his rage dissolving to shame as he shook his head and stared at the ground.

"Damn. Don't feel too bad about it. Trying to stop him, it... it wasn't your responsibility. A lot of good it did me, huh? Big strong miner one moment, and now I can't even hug my little girl. Doctor's orders, heh."

Jayson was still trying to be lighthearted in his pain and apparent anguish, which only made it harder for Cross to bear. He knew how important the golden idol had been to the people of this town. Now, within a matter of minutes, it was gone and every moment he thought about it a brick was added to the tonne of weight crushing his conscience. He had been so close to getting it back, if he had just reached for it a moment sooner...

Eventually it became too much for Cross to sit still and he stood up from his leaning place against the wall.

"I'll be ready to leave if you come to find me. Thank you for everything, Jayson, and you as well Donovan. I won't soon forget what you have done for us, and I'll never forgive myself if someone finds out about Enkia."

He began to stomp out of the room, shaking with anger, and was finally unable to contain himself. He strode over to Donovan and made sure the old man was looking right back into his eyes as he spoke.

"Next time a merchant rolls around here I advise you to hold a knife to his throat, and you'd best be damn sure the blade's sharp."

The elderly governor had obviously not reached the same conclusion since his eyes widened and his mouth fell agape as the young man stormed out of the room to gather his belongings and attempt to leave the city once again. Donovan was yanked from his shocked state by a weak voice from the bed beside him.

"Don't you worry about us, baby, we'll be fine without the idol. Just try not to think about it, that's how you really bring the bad luck down. Don will let you work in the mine, if you want. That should take your mind off of things."

Despite not having been consulted on the matter, Donovan silently and willingly accepted the ailing Minister's wish.

"I don't want to work in the mine anymore, Dad! I just want to know that you're going to be okay. That _we're_ going to be okay..."

"You don't need to know anything, baby, you just have to believe it. Nothing is for certain, but believing and accepting it is how we get by. It's the only way we ever have."

Soren opened his eyes and was about to pipe up about some obscure philosphical theory or argument, but Angela caught him before he could and dragged him out of the room by one ear. The injured miner on the bed caughed and clenched his eyes in an expression of pain.

"I'm going to get some rest now. Don't worry... about me... baby..." Jayson's eyelids fluttered and finally came to rest as he fell unconscious.

Before the hour was up, Cross, Angela and Soren were standing on the rugged crag overlooking Enkia from the south. They were gazing northward across the treacherous, rocky barrens that signified the rugged continuation of their journey as the day progressed into the scorching noon.

"Donovan said that if we keep going north we should at least see Fletz," Angela spoke with a voice that seemed lost somewhere else, and she was only speaking to assure herself that she was still with them on the cliffs.

"Looks like a rough trip," Cross acknowledged in a similar tone.

"We can probably make it by the end of the day," Soren spoke in a more forward tone.

"I hope so. I don't want to wind up sleeping on a rock."

They continued to hesitate, unsure of whether they had done all that they were capable of to help Jayson and the others, still feeling strangely responsible for the ill circumstances. They began glancing reproachfully at one another, recognizing the adversity each of them felt at that same moment, not knowing either what could have been done or what should happen next, except to continue onward. Still, it felt completely wrong to leave all of this negativity behind them, only to continue on with their lives like it had never happened, allowing their benefactors to breathe deeply of their own misfortune.

"Do we really have to do this? I feel like I can't even go on."

"I understand your discouragement, Cross. But we have little choice. It seems unpropitious for us to simply depart, but it would be equally awkward for us to stay. I think we're doing the best thing by leaving."

"What's stopping us, then?"

"That... is a good question."

For once Soren seemed flustered and unable to concoct a response from his expansive vocabulary.

"Nobody said all of this was going to be easy. Nobody at all. But I think that once we get going, and if we don't look back, we can make it through," Angela told them with a confident look.

The two men looked back at her and nodded, drawing strength from her resolution. The only sound to be heard was the wind wailing through the cavities and canyons of the cliffs, over cavern entrances and holes in rocks, not sounding eerie as most think but hollow and sad. It picked up the sand and tossed it in clouds through the air, the earth's only way of reaching up to the sky to ask why they couldn't be together, while the vultures above rode the air currents to mock it. From behind them a scrabbling noise could be heard climbing up the slope towards them. They turned around to find Pearl ascending the steep hill towards them, her father's huge blade strapped securely to her back with a pack of supplies. She grimaced as she finally reached the top, and Cross couldn't help but find the sight of her, with the dwarfing weapon clumsily attached to her, slightly amusing.

"Thank Soa you're still here," she panted, "mind if I come with?"

The three travelers stared incredulously at each other.

"Yes, we do," Cross admonished, "if anything happens to you, what will your father and mother think? I doubt that they _let_ you leave."

"They weren't going to, but I convinced them," she played it off well enough that they believed her, but her true reason for leaving still echoed in her mind like a gunshot through miles of open, cavernous tunnels...

* * *

_She was walking up the stairs into the den of her home, dowtrodden and upset at the sight of her injured and barely coherent father. The tears were gone but had left the familiar irritation on her face, causing her to occasionally wipe her forearm over her cheeks. Her mother entered, closing the door behind and embracing her daughter now that they were alone. Upon breaking the embrace, Katina looked deeply into the eyes of her daughter with a serious inflection in her own._

_"I want to talk to you about something very important, Pearl."_

_"Not a lot we talk about anymore that _isn't _important... what is it, mom?"_

_"I'm not sure about anything anymore, dear. I'm not sure if we were betrayed and more outsiders will arrive soon, if we'll be able to mine enough ore this season, if your father will get better. If those people arriving was just a bad omen of things to come... now we don't even have the idol protecting us."_

_Pearl was shocked at her own mother's pessimism."What are you trying to say, mom?"_

_"I think you should go with them, to the outside world. There's so much out there for you to see, Pearl... but most importantly you have to get them to help you to get our idol back. We need it now more than ever and I don`t know if we`re going to make do without it. You`re more capable than anyone to go, and that`s why I think you`ll be fine."_

_It was a terrible burden to put on someone who was already in the throes of misery, but Pearl trusted her mother's judgement and was already sure that this was the right thing to do._

_"What will dad think?"_

_"He told me that he wanted you to go, he thinks that you can do it." It was odd that in this dire and trying state, Katina was able to unflinchingly lie to her daughter. She was one of many in Enkia who had acquired a fanatical reliance on the idol, believing that it was the cause for any turn of luck in the secluded town. Except she had reached the point where she was endangering her own daughter for the sake of posessing the stone._

_"He.. wants me to go?" At first she seemed unsure, but with one thought she hurdled the barrier of mourning for her father and wanting to take action. "I'll go."_

_"I'm so proud of you, dear," her mother affirmed fervently, embracing her once again, "it's such a big responsibility for someone so young, but you're different. You'll do fine."_

_She really hoped she would._

* * *

Cross was still suspicious. He did not want to have her along for fear of anything happening to her. He was already plagued with guilt for what he had apparently brought to Enkia, which was anything but good. If this girl was to come to any harm, he would not be able to live with himself. When he still tried to argue Angela pulled him aside.

"I can't believe they really told her to go. And I can't believe you're going along with it! They've already lost so much, and you're actually going to believe that they're willing to risk losing their daughter now, too?"

"Why is it hard to believe? They live differently than us, there must be some reason why-"

"Did you actually just ask me that? Shouldn't it be obvious why? She just saw her dad nearly die. That stone is the only thing that gives them hope. She thinks if she goes to get it back then she's helping her family. But she'll be doing them a lot worse if she gets herself killed!"

"Haven't you noticed, Cross? She's stronger than you are. Probably Soren, too. There's something special about Pearl, and it makes me _want_ to have her with us."

He couldn't argue with that. She was strong for such a petite young thing. And here he was, treating her like a child when she was only two years younger than him. He felt it, too. Beneath his aching passion for the people of Enkia begging him not to cause any more damage was the sensation he had had on the lake two nights ago. She belonged with them, and it would kill him more just to leave her behind.

"You... really feel it too? The same way about me and Soren?"

Angela nodded. She had been sure all along that they must be feeling it. Maybe Soren had been as well, and that was the real reason why the big man had come along. Cross was the only one who had been skeptical of this draw he felt towards his companions, which made him slightly ashamed now. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, a bond different than both friendship and blood... it was destiny.

"All right. I'm keeping a close eye on her, though."

Angela laughed. "You're funny, Cross. Always protective of us little girls."

He blushed in the afternoon sun, his face growing hotter than the sand at his feet. She had been laughing at him, yes, but it felt good. He was fine with it.

_Then why are you blushing, asshole?_

_Not you again. Last time I listened to you my hand almost turned into a rock._

_Then it would have matched that head of yours._

_I've fucking gone crazy. I'm insulting myself in my head._ He chuckled to himself.

"What is it?" Angela was looking at him like he had just swallowed a handful of rocks.

"Nothing. I guess you're pretty funny yourself."

The walked back over to where Pearl and Soren were having a dull conversation about which direction to take. Soren insisted that the pass ahead of them lead northwest and would take them straight to Fletz. Pearl, who had never even been to the port city, was arguing that the pass only lead directly north and would lead them to nothing but barrens until the seashore. Soren rubbed his temples and repeated what the priest Hananiah had said days ago.

"I wish I had a damn map."

He noticed his two companions approaching and raised an eyebrow. They were both laughing. He was sure that when they had left they would discuss whether or not to bring the young miner with them, certainly a serious matter. The only reason for which he had not joined them was because his mind had been made up already by an inexplicable draw he could feel in the back of his mind. But why were they laughing.

"What's got you two so jovial? Are you ready to finally go?"

"Why the rush, big guy? Fletz ain't going anywhere!" Pearl butted in.

"Yeah, we're ready to go," Cross chuckled, "and we're taking along anyone who's game for the trip."

"You can count me in!" Pearl cheered.

Soren smiled. To him, they had made the right decision. "Alright. Let's go."

They set off into the pass where rocks jutted into the sky on either side, the sand whirled and whipped up through the air, and the barrens lay open and ready to swallow them. They didn't know exactly where they were going, but they were glad that they had each other.

* * *

**Bah. I wanted to finish this and have it up two weeks ago and then got totally swamped with school work. I've been getting ready for a spring break trip to Cuba, and to top it all off my cat produced another brood of little ones. She's doing most of the work, but I still spend time with them every day. I love kittens. Anyway I'm kind of pissed about how I tried to rush the end of this chapter, but it needed to go up. As I'm writing this I'm in my basemeant waiting for my buddy to take me to school because I missed the damn bus. It's the only free time I have had for weeks. I don't even really care about reviews anymore, I'm finishing this story only for myself and the people who seem to actually enjoy reading it, which I greatly appreciate. Cheers.**

**R&R I'm still telling you to because it would be nice if you would, haha!**


	9. View From the Top

**Disclaimer: **Copyright laws can... rrrrrrrrgh, this game needs a sequel! But since I don't own it, I can't do that can I?

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter 9: View From the Top**

The barrens were aptly named. Nearly devoid of life, the rocks and sand went on for miles with no signs of human or animal activity. If the sun, sustainer of life to the entire planet, was so abundant in this dust bowl, then why was it that its presence here seemed to incinerate all life except for tiny, fruitless shrubs and untouchable cacti? Deliberating on such issues was the only thing that Cross could do to keep his mind off of the searing heat beaming down on him from above, deflecting off the sand to bake him from below as well. Sweat dripped constantly from his chin, his nose, his hair. It had nearly soaked his shirt through after he removed it and wrapped the cloth around his head, draping the fabric over his neck and back to safeguard his skin from the ultraviolet assault. It was an easy walk over the sand-blanketed rocks, but the heat itself was fatiguing enough to warrant a break every hour or so.

Pearl puzzled him. She was showing complete resilience to the rays of the sun, and every so often seemed to look up and drink in the radiation, absorbing it into her golden skin like leaves on a flower do. She was impervious to anything the elements had to offer, which was puzzling to the farmer who had worked for years in the sun, wind and wet, contracted numerous illnesses, been sunburned, windburned and stricken with heatstroke. He supposed she could live out here in the constant sun for days without so much as a cough of protest from her powerful yet diminutive frame. He detected a smidge of jealousy and shrugged it off. Genetics. Couldn't argue with that.

Soren flexed his massive shoulders that gleamed like polished armor plates in the sun. He, too, had favored being shirtless for the sake of his relatively pale flesh. Despite the size of his own garment, however, it was like trying to hide a horse behind a household curtain, and his back still managed to peek out from behind the cotton shirt to be scorched by the solar heat.

"Ah, do you feel that?" He spoke in a pleased voice devoid of fatigue.

"What is it?" Angela pulled in beside him. She was the most overdressed of the four, having chosen not to remove her canonical robe. Needless to say, she drank plenty of the water.

A blessing from nowhere rushed past them on invisible wings, not so much kissing as licking the sweat from their skin and leaving a cool caress in its wake. The smell was salty.

"A breeze. A _seabreeze_. We're getting there."

The wind took from them their heat and also their bodily stench, carrying it on unseen currents through the air and into the open spaces of the barrens. It glided easily over the unwelcoming thorns of a cactus, inbetween the inpenetrable walls of a stone canyon and into the dark crevices of whatever nocturnal creatures dare not brave the sun. Something there picked up the scent, savoured it. The thing stirred. The smell was irresistable.

* * *

"So you mean to tell me that the Fletz we're going to, isn't really Fletz at all?"

"Not the original one, anyway. Old Fletz was destroyed a long time ago during the Cataclysm. Apparently the twin castle 'crumbled like a pair rotten trees in a hurricane wind, though the destruction wrought by the land was not from above, but below, and the rest of the city was barely spared of toppling into the sea and being lost forever.'"

"That's from 'The Testimony of Lisa the Stargazer'. How could you quote it exactly like that?" Angela's admiration showed through her panting breaths.

"How did you know I did?" Soren shot back with a sly smile, "anyway, they fortunately predicted it through astrology or something of that sort --it's a practice passed down by the royal family-- and everyone was able to escape before it even happened. Then they began to build anew. They constructed Fletz as we know it today as an addition to Donau, a green paradise created by a man named Nello. According to the records, the plants in Donau were growing out into the barrens, turning it into a verdant oasis."

"Doesn't look like they got very far," Cross scoffed, looking around.

"Those kind of things take time, my young friend. A lot of time. Once you see the city, you'll know that it isn't as unimpressive as you may thi-"

Cross, Pearl and Angela continued to walk ahead a few steps before they realized that their friend had abruptly stopped talking, something they were sure was not possible. They met each others eyes with looks of confusion and turned around. Soren was standing completely still, staring with wide eyes into nowhere.

"Soren? What's the matter?"

"Look like you just seen a dragon or something, buddy!"

Cross' spine stiffened and Pearl's joking halted when they saw that he was reaching out with one of his hands, his mouth opening and closing with no words or air escaping. White foam erupted from his throat and he collapsed face-first into the sand, an oversized, pulsating stinger protruding from his back. It was attached by a tail to a scorpion roughly the size of a large dog, with lidless yellow eyes staring hatefully at its prey.

"_Soren!_ Oh no, we gotta help-"

Pearl had already sprung into action. With speed paralleling her own immense strength, she clutched the end of the stinger and ripped it from the poisoned wound before thrusting it into the head of its owner, easily cracking the solid carapace and destroying the insect's eyes. Merely acting on reflex from the loss of its brain, it blindly swung its claws to fend off its attacker. Pearl easily dodged the strike, stepped back, wound up, and kicked the miserable thing several yards into a rock, where it exploded into chunks of carapace and green entrails. Turning away from the mess, Pearl found Cross and Angela attempting in vain to treat their dying companion.

"Do we have any Body Purifiers, Angela?"

"Hang on, I'm trying to find one-" she was shuffling frantically through her bag for the antidote she knew they didn't have.

"_Tell me_ we have a Body Purifier, Angela. If we don't, he's gonna... he's gonna-"

"I _know_ that, dammit, will you just shut up!" She screamed in frustration and struck him on the shoulder. He was barely phased and only stared with blank expression at the heavy lump on the ground while Angela started to sob. He seemed dead already.

"Get out of the way," it was Pearl, wielding the top of a cactus she had removed. The needles were several inches long, but she held it so delicately and in such a way that it didn't hurt her at all. She poured a bit of fluid from the hollow center into her mouth, then leaned over the huge mans' back to suck the poison from the open wound. She stayed like that for a few seconds, then turned and spit a clear serum that sizzled in the sand. The second time she spat there was blood in it as well.

"That should be all of it," she said calmly before turning the cactus over and squeezing the rest of the juice into the wound. Cross had figured that it was just water inside of the thorny plant, but now he was sure it was something more. His thoughts were interrupted when Angela said something to him.

"What?"

"Hold him down, Cross, or he might hurt himself."

Indeed their friend had begin to thrash with convulsions as his body abruptly detoxified, and there were enough sharp rocks around that it would only take the lumberjack's own strength to break his bones.

"You want _me_ to hold _him_ down?" he looked at her incredulously.

"Well, do something!"

"Pinch it shut," Pearl informed Angela, who closed the wound after a slight hesitation. Pearl then began suturing the wound with a needle plucked from the very same cactus. As she did this Cross grabbed her patient by the ankles, attempting in vain to immobilize the bigger, stronger man. He got a back kick to the jaw for his troubles. When Pearl had finished the result was a perfectly cleaned and stitched cut, despite an obviously amateur suturing job.

"Now we gotta turn him over. Give him a sec."

Within a few minutes the stunned Soren had opened his eyes and squinted once again into the scorching sun. What he saw when the pain and brightness subsided were his friends leaning over him, staring intently at his face. Cross was rubbing his jaw for some reason.

"Agh!" he began coughing horribly and spitting up unpleasant things, "what happened?"

"You were poisoned. Pearl dealt with the whole thing."

"Yeah, that was amazing."

"I know a couple o' good tricks," she winked at them, "come on, we hafta get outta here before nightfall. That's when the real nasties come out to play."

They gathered themselves and trekked over a bluff onto a wide rock face to get a panoramic view of the coastline. To their right, the East, the water lapped up against rocks protruding from the earth in every direction like they had been scattered as playthings. Every couple hundred yards they could see spots of inviting white sand beaches urging them to cool themselves in the water, which only became harder to resist when the soothing breeze rushed past them again, bringing the old salty, refreshing scent. To their left the bluffs descended from rocks and sand to become earth rich with grasses, shrubs and, most surprising of all, flowers. Flowers of every colour bloomed among the greenery, in trees and bushes, displaying all the diversity in the colours of nature mixed or intensified wherever the eyes would settle. It all abruptly ended on the outskirts of the city of Fletz, with a jutting tower directly in the center surrounded by thousands of buildings and a port half the size of the city itself stretching fingers made of wooden docks to the East.

"Now do you see how far they got?" Soren turned to Cross.

"Hmph, I guess you were right," Cross tried to sound unimpressed.

* * *

The lower city streets were abustle with more people in one place that Cross had ever seen in his life. Everywhere he looked people were haggling with merchants, trading, carting goods on wagons down the wide street and all while wading through hundreds of bodies. It made him desperately uncomfortable, like being in the mines. It was as though every person could suddenly gravitate towards him at any moment and crush the life out of him in a fleshy mass. He tried to shake off such a thought, since it only made him feel worse.

"You okay, Cross? You look a little green around the gills," Pearl teased.

"I don't, uh... well I, uh... is the whole town this busy?"

"Of course not," Soren laughed like it was the strangest question he had ever heard, "the lower city limits are the business district."

A quick look around confirmed that. All around, tents and stands stood with wares hung up or displayed on blankets. Most of the buildings had only one floor and were themselves shops containing everything from weapons and armour to falsified Rouge scrolls to herbal medicine. From a shop on the side of the cobblestone street Cross noticed a man wearing a tall, strange hat emerge. His garments stood out as being cleaner and fancier than the rest of the crowd, even those selling expensive exotic fabrics. The man's gaze shifted towards them, and after an awkward double-take he nearly sprinted over to them.

"Stopped by to say hello to an old friend, did you?" He approached Soren.

"Immanuel!" the big man roared, snatching the tiny (by comparison) scholar into his arms for a noticeably painful bear hug, "it's been too long, my friend."

"Yes, a good twelve years too long. Tell me, what the hell have you been doing this whole time?"

Soren seemed to swallow his jubilance for the time being, "That's something we're going to need much more time than we have to discuss. I actually came here to find you, Immanuel. I- _w_e need your help with something of great importance."

"Then come to my house in the Donau district, I'll fill your bellies with a feast fit for the King himself! This is a grand occassion; the return of Soren the Sex-Crazy Scholar!"

All three of Soren's companions cast him a startled look, causing the skin over his beard to flush red. Immanuel was overly pleased with having embarrassed his long-time friend in front of his new companions.

"Er, that equivocal installment in the series of blurry pictures I call my life is long since over. Besides, I'm afraid we don't have time for dinner, and for that I truly am sorry. Before we get good and drunk though I need to ask a favour of you, old friend. It requires that you take us to the palace."

"Hm, I see. Since this appears to be a matter of major urgency, we'll have to catch up on the walk there. By the way, aren't you going to introduce me to your new friends? What are a bunch of upstart young citizens doing with a haggard old philosopher, anyway?"

"It's not 'cause he's sex-crazy, I'll tell you that," Pearl said in a semi-serious tone.

"Yes, well, if we start making our way towards the palace, I'll tell you along the way."

The two rambled on as they began walking up the street absent-mindedly with the three bewildered young newcomers in tow.

The interior of the palace was spectacular. As they roamed the huge, superbly crafted corridors Cross could only turn on his heels to gaze at the decorated walls and cieling and hope that he didn't bump into anything expensive. There wasn't a single part of the building that was not patrolled by guards done up in heavy-looking white armor and brandishing polished, lengthy lances that looked as decorative and appealing as every other facet of the keep. For the most part they ignored the travellers, but Cross caught an odd glance every so often that he was sure to return with a grimace. As he grew bored with the increasingly monotonous architecture he tried to remember what they were there for. He knew that they had to tell the king about what atrocities were occurring at that very moment, but what did that mean for them? Would they be dimissed, sent home with a pat on the shoulder and forgotten? How would that help him at all, when he only longed to drench his hands in blood? He needed answers first, and he was not sure if what they were doing was getting him any. He began to think that maybe it was a mistake that he had formed a group instead of setting out on his own.

_Aw, having second thoughts? I could have sworn that only a few days ago the **last** thing on your mind was ditching your friends._

_I'm allowed to change my own opinion, am I not?_

_Of course. Everyone's allowed to choose their opinions, but nobody chooses their conscience._

_Is that what you are; my conscience?_

_You could call me that, then you could also start calling the sky a loaf of bread. It would be far from the truth._

Cross was growing tired of this voice in his mind. It always seemed like it was out to make him look like a fool. But if he was the only one who could hear it, who would he be made a fool of to? Himself? It was no good to him. Maybe it was trying to keep him from regressing into some sort of animal, acting on his urges and fuelled by a single impulse. For that he supposed he should be grateful, but what was the use if he was only running circles in his mind all of the time? A burly hand with an iron grip seized him by the arm, literally ripping him out of his thoughts.

"You're going to have to leave that with me, sir. It's a general rule: no admittance of weapons in the presence of the king."

"Hm, I wonder why?" Cross mused sarcastically before tamely handing over his spear. His companions were disarmed as well, though Soren was not approached to do so. A man of a physically smaller stature than the other knights emerged from a laqcuered and flawless cedar door flanking a much larger and fortified door of the same material. Sporting next to no armor and mousy hair tied neatly back into a ponytail, he looked like another scholar, albeit a robeless one. Though smaller than the other knights, he carried himself with an authority and self-righteousness that boiled Cross' blood and petrified the backbone of any nearby soldier.

"I'm Captain Schuldiner of the first knighthood," he said in a rough voice as he offered his hand to Soren, "I have already spoken to His Majesty of your arrival, and he has approved of it with much excitement. He is eager to meet you again, sir."

"I would hope so," the bearded man chuckled, "practically taught the boy everything he knows."

"Of course," the Captain said with a look of disdain. It made Cross want to drag him by his ponytail and hurl him off the nearest balcony. Then the Captain shouted, "Let the visitors into the Chamber of the Sun."

With the shout from the Captain the soldiers spontaneously started to hussle about, and the massive doors before them began to laboriously swing open.

Wasting no time, Captain Schuldiner appointed himself with the task of introducing everyone. "Soren and guests, please show your respects to Adalbert Aemilius, King of the sovereign nation of Izezuza, descendant of a hero of the Dragon Campaign."

The king stood from his throne to greet the guests himself.

"Welcome! And in your case Soren, welcome back. How has life been treating you, teacher?"

"A lot better than you did in your glory days, Majesty," the big man guffawed.

"If you're referring to when I was a senseless child, you would probably be right, teacher, but those are far from my glory days. You're living those with me right now, as I have now been crowned King at the unfortunate passing of my father."

"Yes," Soren's voice dropped in admiration, "He was a great man, Adalbert. I'm sorry I wasn't here to see him off with you."

"I'm sure he forgives you, teacher. As I do. On a lighter note, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Ah, of course. Your Majesty, this is Cross, Angela and Pearl," each bowed in turn.

"In with a bit of a young crowd these days, aren't you Soren? Or have you really fathered all these-"

"Oh- no, of course not! Don't be ridiculous, I haven't even," he seemed to trail off in frustration, then find his bearings again. "we've all come here for our own reasons, Adalbert, but the overall implications of why we've come all this way are tremendously important. Surely you understand that I would not have come back unless..."

"I understand entirely Soren. And with what happened to you, I don't blame you at all for leaving."

The burly ex-scholar seemed to grow steadily more uncomfortable, and was moving as though the fabric of his clothing had suddenly become unbearably itchy.

"That's not important right now. What we've come to tell you is..."

He began to weave their tale with his trademark vocabulary and descriptiveness, with each of his companions contributing what they knew. By the time they were finished the light slanted through the paneless windows of the chamber and a brittle, tense silence consumed it. The King had his chin propped comfortably on one hand, leaning forward on his throne to catch every detail. Immanuel had reacted animatedly to the story and was now cleaning his glasses in anticipation of his lord's response. Captain Schuldiner seemed unfazed. Finally the King stood and filled the room with his commanding voice.

"Come with me, you four. There's something I ought to show you."

He turned and retreated to a corridor behind his seat and the only ones to follow him were Captain Schuldiner, Cross and the others. They eventually came to a winding staircase that they traversed for some time before finally reaching an expansive, circular room with a domed roof and windows all around its circumference. Cross approached one of the windows, looking out and down. They were at the top of the spear-like tower he had seen from below, with an impressive view of not only the city, but the land for miles in every direction.

"Look this way," Adalbert directed them to the south side of the tower, and pointed beyond the brown, wind-swept barrens to an ominous, black cloud of smoke rising above the horizon.

"We noticed it right around the time that our scouts reported what was happening, which was only yesterday. But what you four have just told us changes things completely."

He turned away from the window, unable to look at the cloud any longer, and slowly crossed the polished marble floor of the chamber.

"What Cross and Angela found in those fields seems like proof enough that the church is definitely involved in this, but to what degree and purpose we do not know whatsoever. The truth is," he glanced cautiously at Angela, "that we have been observing the church for a long time, both from the shadows and from this very tower. What we have discovered has been... unsettling to say the least. The Bishop of Fletz is always hidden, and orchestrating strange occurrences from wherever it is he may hide. To make matters worse, the Neo-Dragonian Movement seems restless now as well, and they are not to be trusted at all. If things blow up between the two, the result will be nothing short of full-out war, with innocent people caught in the mix."

Cross was immediately intrigued by the idea of a war with the Church of Soa, and knew exactly what side he would be on.

"How can you be sure that the Neo-Dragonians aren't the good guys?" he inquired, "I mean, we've seen what the church has done, and as far as I'm concerned the Neo-Dragonians haven't done anything worse."

The King smiled at the young farmer. "If you had seen what they are truly capable of, you'd be much more wary of them. They are extremists and nothing more. Dangerous extremists, at that; they hold the power of Dragoons."

"The spirits of dragons, used to help humankind in a desperate war..." Soren said with interest, "they really control such a powerful force?"

"They will not restrain from using them, or the technologies they have been able to develop because of them. I fear them the most, but if we can quell the church's actions before anything more can happen, we may be able to prevent a war," he looked apologetically at Cross, "and more pointless slaughter. Now I must retire to plan Izezuza'a course of action in this endeavour. Thank you, all of you, for your efforts in bringing this to light. Myself and my countrymen are indebted to you."

He turned away from them to exit down the stairs of the tower, but stopped cold when a desperate-sounding young voice from behind beckoned him to stop. The voice belonged to Cross, the unfortunate young farmer.

"What is it, young man? Have you more to share with me?"

"Yes... well, I sort of do. I thought that I should let yourself and Captain Schuldiner know that I will do anything if you will just let me help you. I'm looking for my own answers about the church, and I think that your efforts will help me find what I need to... to... get revenge."

"Young man, you have already put yourself in terrible danger for-"

"Please! I'll do anything if you just give me this chance!"

"Don't interrupt the King, you peasant farmer!" Captain Schuldiner exploded with rage, "And you will refer to him as 'Your Majesty!'"

Cross wanted to break his pointy nose for calling him a peasant, but instead he went to his knees and bowed before the King. "I apologize, Your Majesty, but please. I need this."

"There's no need for that, either of you," Adalbert shot a disapproving look at his trusted but overzealous Captain before returning to the teenager at his feet, "you may rise, Cross. There's no need for that. Not with me."

Cross rose to his feet, his face hopeful. The King could tell that something desperate and determined in this young man would lead him to do something stupid if he did not help him. He regarded him in the same way he supposed his ancestor Albert had regarded his friend Lavitz; allowing him to follow his heart for the sake of virtue. It caused him to wax sympathetic for a moment, for everyone knew the fate of Lavitz. A glance over the farmer's shoulder told him that Cross' companions had not been expecting this, except for the girl with the church robe. She had a sad look to her that informed him she had expected this. Perhaps this young man would be useful to him in the end.

"Alright, Cross. I am granting you something of which I have never done for anyone else; entry into my knighthood. With no formal training or background, many a hopeful knight Ihave turned down would disown me as their king. But I have faith in you. You will be placed in a branch of the Knighthood that few even know of; the Secret Service. You will get the details tomorrow."

Captain Schuldiner moved as if to protest, then stifled himself. To his surprise, the other three travellers fell in line with their friend.

"You will have to include me in this 'Secret Service' of yours, Adalbert. I'm impressed that you were able to conduct something so covert on your own."

The King appeared to be greatly startled. "You're a scholar, Soren, not a soldier."

The big man nodded, "But I'm built like one. I can handle myself, Adalbert. Your teacher knows a trick or two."

"You better take me along, too! Sounds like fun," Pearl laughed.

"What have I got to lose?" Angela smiled but seemed unsure of herself.

"Hm, I see you all have a close bond. Very well, you are all excepted into the Secret Service, effective as of tomorrow. Captain Schuldiner will brief you then. As for me, I'm heading downstairs for dinner, and the rest of you are joining me. Come, you shall dine in luxury for tonight!"

* * *

The next morning, the four stood around a table in a back room of the castle. There were no windows, no decorations, and the room was square with stone walls. It barely belonged in the extravagant palace. Captain Schuldiner leaned over the wooden table on which his hands were firmly planted, looking about as pleased as he had since the crew had arrived. Beneath the piercing gaze of his eyes was a detailed map of the city. He could not believe that he actually had to give these pedestrians who had come out of nowhere a mission that his top men had been vying for for weeks. It was unheard of.

"First of all, you are never to speak of this place, your role in the knighthood or even mention my name. Because none of you are _real_ knights (and would make poor ones if you were), you can infiltrate places that members of the knighthood cannot at the risk of compromising not only their honour but their identities. Got that? Now, we have not yet found the Bishop of Fletz, but his underlings and cronies are more than happy to make themselves apparent to us. We have a list of names to investigate, but I've picked one out that I think is perfect for your... experience."

Cross was trying his hardest to ignore the fact that the Captain's speech had been riddled with insults and keep his attention fully fixed on their mission. He was not going to let King Adalbert down after being given this chance, and he was definitely not going to let the opportunity to find info on the church slip away.

"The name of the target is a sir Henri Bouillard, and he is a wealthy suitor to a powerful estate. Since inheriting it, however, he has become a hermit for the past few years, and we've only been able to spot him attending church gatherings where it has been confirmed that top brass for the church in this area meet. This can only mean that he is using his wealth to fund the Church and whatever they are planning, and he knows what they're up to."

His serious, glaring and almost serpent-like eyes shifted their glare to the map laid out on the table before them. He pointed to the outskirts of town, on the southern end.

"He spends most of his time confined in his mansion, here, so if you make your way inside he will almost surely be there. We know for a fact that it is guarded quite well, but not fortified in any way whatsoever. Your goal is to make your way inside somehow and squeeze whatever information you can out of the bastard. I can guarantee it will be dangerous and surely require whatever cunning has gotten you thus far, but whatever we can get from him about the Church's plans will be far more useful than nothing at all."

"So," he looked back up at them from the parchment, "think you're up for it?"

"Heh, I'm the one that asked for this job, remember? I think we can handle it."

The peasant farmer turned to his companions who seemed to unanimously agree that endangering their lives was alright. Schuldiner had to commend them for their confidence, or was it stubbornness? As they left on their assignment he sat back in his chair and tilted his head to gaze at the roof. He would prove to his King that he was not to be made a fool of by delivering their bodies to His Majesty, having failed the most difficult mission the Captain was able to conjure up. "Sorry, Your Majesty, but they didn't want me to hold back, and I gave them what they wanted," he would tell Him, "they didn't even get through the front door, and we cleaned up what was left the best we could. They were so stubborn, Your Majesty, so stubborn."

"So stubborn," he said aloud.

* * *

**Uh oh, I'm still here! Fuck, it's been too long since the last update, and with a subpar chapter to boot. Hm, I'll have to fix that soon. Anyway, things just caught up with me for awhile there, and now that school is over I can barely scrape up the time to write when I'm not roofing. Rainy days are the best for that. Well, enough about me; it looks like our heroes have been played for fools and sent into a trap. Is Schuldiner really such a bad guy? Find out! His character is a real person by the name of Chuck who was taken from us back in 2001, so the name is only to honour his memory. But just connect the first and last names in a google search if you want to see what the Captain looks like to _me_, otherwise I'm not stopping you from keeping it to your own imagination! Ah, shit, what else is worth noting in this chapter? Oh yeah, in case you didn't notice, the king's name is literally Albert Emille, the ancestors from which he was spawned. Once again, I'm open for questions and feedback. And I love you guys. You know who you are.**

**R&R**


	10. The Fire in Fletz

**Disclaimer:** Legend of Dragoon does not belong to yours truly.

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter 10: The Fire in Fletz**

"So do we hafta go to this rich guy's house right away?" Pearl yawned, "I'm not even awake yet."

Soren deliberated on the issue for a moment, scratching away at his rusty, unkempt beard. After a moment his eyes lit up and he lifted his hand away from his face, as if he had found an idea in the mass of hair.

"It would be beneficial to get our bearings in this city, considering that three of us have never been here before," he looked at the rest of them, then pointed down the street, "we'll rendezvous at where we first walked into town in an hour, then proceed to the mansion from there."

He swallowed after he spoke, indicating that he did not like the idea of infiltrating such a fortified abode unprepared.

"Besides, I have something I'd like to do before we get that underway," he nodded at them and began to walk off.

"Me, too. I'll see you guys later."

It was Pearl, and everyone else present stared in disbelief. Even Soren had stopped to turn around to check if he had even heard that.

"You want to wander around here on your own? I thought you said you'd never been here before," Cross began, narrowing his eyes.

"Hey, don't get pissed! Just look here," the teenager pointed over her shoulder directly to a spot on the hilt of the massive blade slung to her back where an insignia and signature indicated that it had been made in the very city where they were.

"I wasn't pissed. Do I seem pissed a lot?"

"Maybe."

Soren inspected the mark dubiously for a moment, took a deep breath and concluded, "It originated from a forge in the southern district consisting of two three-story buildings, a creaky chair in the waiting room and an odd stench emanating from a side closet."

Cross raised an eyebrow, "You knew it down to every detail?"

"Of course," Soren said, turning to continue down the street.

* * *

Cross had been eager to agree with Angela when she decided to head for the item store. With Soren and Pearl gone, who else would he walk down the street with? His other option, should everyone have abandoned him in the road all alone, was to cower inside the nearest building. Packed with bodies as he had been the previous day, claustrophobia would have found its grasp on him again, stranding him until the hour was up and he could run for the entrance and, hopefully, out into the field beyond. Having spent most of his life in the open, it had become the only place where he was completely comfortable. Maybe someday he could get used to pressing himself irritably against busybodies rushing in the streets to save time getting to Who-knows-where, Fletz. For now, as long as he had _someone_ to walk beside through the mass of people, he could forget about why it bothered him so badly to the point where he didn't really mind at all. He could walk aimlessly through-

"Cross!"

_Thud! - _Before he could snap out of his funk he had walked into a sign hanging off of a nearby wall, causing it to swing in it's hinges and crash back down on his skull as he clutched his forehead in surprise. When he lifted his hands from his face a moment later he read the letters I-T-E-M and felt like even more of an idiot.

"Found the place." He walked around the sign and into the door. A moment later a loud voice could be heard from inside of the shop:

"I _told_ you to mount that sign up higher, you good-for-nothing..."

Angela could only roll her eyes as she entered the brightly-stocked store.

* * *

Pearl stared at the building across the street from her. _Two buildings, three... stories? What the hell did he call them?_ Then she saw the sign, made from wood painted with pastel colours that were a poor choice to decorate a forge. But the symbol over the scramble of words was easy enough to recognize. It was indented right into the hilt of her weapon. Pearl entered through the front door of the smithy's place, taking in the simple wooden architecture of the rooms with distaste. The palace had been fine, aside from that one room, with every other room being just like home, but this place was terrible. All these _straight angles_ and _corners_, and it was all made out of wood!

Something bumped into her leg and she heard a hollow _creak_. Looking down, Pearl noticed a short wooden chair. A slight test of pushing her hand down lightly on the seat told her that Soren had been right, it did creak.

_How did he know that it was still like that? Wasn't the last time he was here like twelve years ago or something? Or maybe they just are that cheap..._

She shifted her sight to the right of the chair to find the infamous closet. When she walked over to see if the chair could possibly be a fluke and Soren was wrong about the closet, she was forced to stop about two steps from the door. Holding her arm in front of her nose Pearl backed away slowly.

_He was right about that, too! That doesn't make **sense**, twelve years and they don't clean a closet? There must be something alive in there, or at least it **was** alive..._

"We're not actually open yet," a voice called from a door to the left of a torso-height 'window' in the wall through which the orange heat of a forge's flames could be seen.

Pearl was quick to get her hand behind her back and try looking polite. She didn't want to be disrespectful after all, and she didn't really know what a store being "open" meant. You could get what you wanted when you needed it in her town, it was just the same as calling on a friend. You were expected to give some of your time at least. She assumed it must mean "clean" and only nodded, hoping it was the right response. _Yeah, they're not actually __**clean**__ yet. That's what he meant._ Thinking that she was doing pretty good with blending in, she approached the man in the doorway and withdrew her huge sword, making him flinch slightly.

"Did you make this, or do you know who did?" She smiled and held the weapon out in one hand for him to take.

"Uh, we... urgh," he squinted at the insignia on the hilt, then his eyes widened. "Yes, I know who made this. Hold on for a moment."

He took it from her and sagged under it's dead metallic weight, then lugged it into the back. A moment later he returned empty handed and rubbing his scrawny arms.

"Come right in."

The back room of the shop was very hot, despite numerous sources of ventilation in the roof. There were no windows else the secrets of the shop's resident blacksmith be open to public viewing and theft by competitors. Being a blacksmith in a town as big as Fletz must leave one prone to that sort of thing. She knew that the windows were also absent to allow a darker work environment, conducive to all blacksmiths. In a back corner was one of several coal forges encased in a chimney for both protecting the people nearby and keeping the sweltering heat in a controlled area. Seated next to the forge was a man of about only the same height as Pearl, but a much stockier build. His bare arms stuck out from within his apron like clubs and his width from chest to back must have been larger than most ale kegs. Practically cradled in his arms was her blade, and he had lifted his protective goggles from his sweaty, heat-blistered face to look intently at the finer features of the weapon.

Without looking from the weapon he spoke, "I made this sword for a good friend a long time ago. You're not him. So tell me; what has happened to Jayson Tlalok?"

He seemed weary and expectant of the news, like a mother receiving yet another empty suit of armour from some distant war.

"He had a daughter, for one," the man looked up quickly and seemed to notice her for the first time, "and two, he was attacked, poisoned, nearly killed, for his most cherished possession."

"Is that so?" the man laughed a bit, "sounds like the kind of trouble he'd be getting himself into. He was always saying he wanted a little girl to bring up in this world... and that means you're her. And it also means that if you want to know who would have done this to your father and why, I'm going to have to disappoint you. There is no way I'm telling you anything that might get you hurt, not after hearing how bad he wanted you for so long. Go home, kid."

"You didn't even let me tell you what I wanted, and already you're sending me out? Dad sure wouldn't find that very polite."

"You're right, he wouldn't," the stocky blacksmith chuckled again, "by the way, I'm Orlin."

"My parents named me Pearl. They'd want me to tell you why, but it's kind of a sappy story..."

"Haha, that's alright, I don't need to know where you're name came from to know it's a fine name!"

Pearl went on the offensive. Now it was time to get what she had come here for.

"So, you knew my Dad, Mr. Orlin?

"We were the best of friends."

"Right, so can you tell me what maybe he was like when he was younger? I've tried to get him to tell me so many times, but he just won't. Not what he did, what his dreams were, where he was born, nothin'. When I was a bit younger I figured he'd tell me when the time was right, I mean why would he want to keep it from me _that_ bad, right? But it seemed like as time went by he just wanted to forget it more, and he would always be hiding that from me. Now, he's so sick I don't know if he'll ever get to tell me, and I've got this feeling that's so strong I can't explain it, but I need to know, okay? So you tell me."

The man next to the burning forge sat up on his bench, his hands latched uncomfortably to his knees as the sweat continued to roll off of his bald head. Pearl thought to herself that he must have burned all of his hair off.

"It's really that serious, isn't it? Jayson would have his own daughter wrap up the loose ends. How could it come to this?" The first question had been directed at Pearl but after that he seemed to be lamenting to himself. Neither of them knew that it was the opposite of what Jayson would have wanted.

"Alright. Pearl, I made this blade for your father many years ago, I don't even remember how many. We had been friends from childhood, and this forge of mine was finally starting to take off. Jayson had wanted to be a carpenter, you know, he worked with wood and I worked with steel. When that didn't pan out for him he joined the knighthood. I couldn't talk him out of it but all of a sudden it seemed like I was just waiting for my best friend to die and didn't have any way of helping him... except one. I always knew he had been strong - stronger than everyone else - so I took all the steel that I could and made this big sword. I knew he'd be the only one that could use it; it would distinguish him from the others, and he could use it to protect himself better than any other soldier out there. I was so proud of it at that time... I didn't realize how many people would die by this thing. I only wanted my friend to survive if there was a war; I already lost a brother and a father to the battlefield. I saved myself from feeling that pain, but I had to leave the power in Jayson's hands to inflict that pain on others."

Pearl had expected this, but was shocked nonetheless. Her father's best friend talked about him like he was a murderer. Perhaps his own guilt magnified what he was saying, but it still disturbed her a little to know that her father had apparently killed many people.

"Have you ever regretted doing anything like that since then?" Pearl thought that the answer might console her. Maybe if this guy was depressed he was exaggerating a bit.

"I have not made a single weapon since. This is my last," he regarded it with a kind of hate. When he looked at it Pearl could almost see the reflection in his eyes-- the reflection of every bloodstain ever left on the sword.

"How do you stay in business if you don't make no weapons?"

"I have others who work under me for that, but that's beside the point," he fidgeted with the goggles on his forehead.

"Jayson made a lot of enemies during his time in the knighthood, Pearl. You would do good to remember that, and be careful who knows your last name. Some of the people who might come after you are too terrible for me to imagine... but what do I know? I'm just a blacksmith who sits in here brooding too much."

He coughed loudly into his fist and wiped it on his apron.

"Please don't take what I'm saying the wrong way. Your dad's a wonderful person, kid. That's just what bothers me about it; nice people like him shouldn't do that kind of work."

"He's changed," Pearl comforted, "he's a miner now."

"Miner? HA! I bet he'd love that. Listen, I'd love to tell you more, kid, but we're just about to open and I've got work to do. Now just isn't the time. Say hi to your dad for me alright?"

"Sure will," Pearl was saddened by the fact that that probably wouldn't be anytime soon. She wanted to stay and make him tell her more anyway, instead grabbing her weapon and wearily heading out the door.

* * *

The trip to the item store had proven well worth the bruise to Cross' forehead. Sagging the bag which he had been coerced into carrying were several healing potions, some healing breezes for good measure, a few attack items and some body purifiers to prevent any repeats of the previous day. None of it had been cheap, but they were still somehow left with more than half of what Soren had doled out to them from his stash. Now Angela had her eye on a book store down the street, and the wash of interest in her look made him sigh at the impending boredom. Nevertheless, he adjusted the strap on his shoulder and followed her inside.

As he had expected, there were shelves as high as the roof packed with billions of papers bound in leather, some of them appeared to be so dust-covered that the pages inside had surely yellowed over time. Framed by the long aisle in front of the entry was a checkout desk, and planted in the seat reading a book was who Cross at first mistook to be an old man. When he looked up at the sound of the bell, his red eyes revealed his true species.

A wingly.

He quickly dragged his gaze back to the volume on the desk to allow his customers time to browse. Cross found the nearest chair and rested his sack of items on the seat, giving himself a moment to rotate his arm, flexing his shoulder. _How the hell does she carry this thing?_

When he turned around he did not see Angela prying books off of the shelf as he had predicted but instead she had immediately engaged in conversation with the wingly at the counter. He seemed friendlier than Cross had at first taken him for, smiling as he pleasantly conversed with the inquisitive girl. As he got closer, Cross could hear what they were talking about.

"You know, most of my people can't bring themselves to read human literature, either not wanting to learn the language or just because they find it so boring and invaluable. Though I find it fascinating, fiction is unheard of to most Winglies."

"Really? You don't have _any_ stories or legends?"

He belly laughed, a hollow sound in the sun-washed room. "My dear, in this world you tend to find that most legends aren't legends at all. They're completely true."

"Oh, Cross. This is Ozwald. He's a professor who brought a great deal of his books all the way from Aglis!"

"Aglis? What's that?"

"An ancient wingly city housed at the bottom of the ocean," the bookkeeper spoke, "the City of Magic. Thousands of years ago it was a school for studying magic arts, but it was abandoned after the original dragon campaign. It suddenly reappeared, however, and soon after the Moonfall it was inhabited by curious winglies like myself, who began learning the ancient secrets of magic."

"Charming," Cross said with little interest.

They then launched into an exchange where Angela plainly listed the array of books she had read in her studies. Needless to say, the wingly storekeeper was impressed.

"You know, there is a book somewhere in here that I think would interest you. Hold on a moment please," he politely requested before a pair of incandescent wings spontaneously formed on his back, causing Cross to jump in surprise at the sharp sound they made. He had only seen these type of wings once before, under less appreciable circumstances. As he started to truly admire the ethereal appendages, the male wingly floated out of sight, up to a high corner amongst the shelves.

He returned with a crisp looking book, practically brand new.

"I keep this tucked away because only the right kind of humans can truly understand it. A particular pattern of thought is required, and a rather prodigious amount of intelligence. It is a text about the ways of magic-"

Cross scoffed. "Only winglies like... well like you can use that stuff."

"According to them, not true," the clerk tapped the cover of the book with his middle and index fingers, "Humans may just be capable of magic, and have been for some time, but simply could not comprehend it. Have you ever heard of pyrokinesis or telekinesis? They are incredibly rare phenomena in humans that some great wingly scholars have discovered is a possible manifestation of magic. We've learned a lot more about it in the last few centuries than in the millennia before that. For instance, us winglies use magic through our own bodies, the sign of which is nearly always the movement of our hands."

He demonstrated by momentarily swaying his arm in a movement as practiced as the pirouette of a dancer. At the same time he rotated his wrists, his fingers flowing effervescently with the movements, creating a trail of light through the very air. The humans watched with stark amazement.

"Magic is a universal entity in itself. It resides in everything, from a lowly insect to a great and towering tree. I suppose Winglies are just composed of much more magic than other beings, and so we are much more attuned to it. Perhaps other living things could exist without it, simply relying on their physical forms, but without magic _we_ would simply revert to our basest of elements, and wither away like dust. Humans require a different method by which to summon their own form of this power, and it requires much more inward thinking and enormous mental effort. Furthermore, the criteria for a human magic user is an anomaly we have yet to pin down. However, with the right pattern of thought and proper dedication, it _can_ be done. I'm sure of it."

He held the book out before him and looked at Angela with a confident look to his albino-esque eyes.

"You can prove it."

She returned his glare with equal enthusiasm. "How much?"

* * *

They met in the designated spot, at the entrance of town they had previously entered through. Pearl was there first, and had already been waiting for half an hour when Soren arrived with nothing to say about what he had been doing on his own. They were chatting idly when Cross came down the street, practically dragging Angela as she read a strange book with a fresh green cover. He was grumbling something about them not having any money left and a botched trip to the weapons store. After a quick check to make sure everyone was ready they set off westbound on a street adjacent to the city gates. The cobblestone streets grew less and less populated as they went, and the buildings lining the path appeared more decrepit as they entered the supposed slums of the city. Past the end of the road a bright blot of colour could be seen in the distance, and as they neared it Cross guessed it was their targets' mansion, with a fresh paint job. Only a few paces later his guess was confirmed.

The street they were on curved to the right and formed a strange hook shape, and at the end was the gigantic mansion, directly across from them. It was several floors tall at the least, and from where the four were standing they could see it was fenced off on three sides and patrolled by guards on all four. Most of the buildings that would have been on the street as it curved around were no more than demolished remains, forcibly removed for the sake of the landowner's privacy. A field of grass stood between them and the estate like water filling a lagoon, for the city limits created such a shape.

"What should we do now?" Cross appealed to Soren in particular for the answer, "Do we try to go in the front or something?"

"No, I think that would almost guarantee certain death," Soren replied conversationally, "what do you think, Angela?"

There was no reply.

"Exactly what kind of book did she buy in that store, Cross? It has me worried..."

"I dunno, it was some load of manure about magic the storekeeper convinced her would work if she tried it. He was a pretty good salesman, but I wasn't convinced."

"Shut up," the girls' voice rose from behind the cover.

"Really? Sounds like it's worth at least a moments' examination," Soren's curiosity was piqued, and he hadn't even spoken with the convincing wingly.

"Oh, don't you start now!" The farmer sighed.

"Well, I didn't plan this far. I was expecting one of you two to think of something," he looked from Soren to Angela, who was still buried in her book and seemingly unaware of what was going on.

"I didn't really contemplate what to do at this juncture, either," Soren stared into the distance, not meeting eyes with any of them.

"What exactly _were_ you doing for that hour we were gone, Soren? Did you go to a church to say your final prayers or were you drinking at some bar? I only want honesty from you."

"I wasn't at either of those places, is it really any of your business-"

"Are you drunk?"

"Perhaps a little! I _might_ have drank where I went, but I'm not obligated to inform you of that!"

"I thought you of all people would have a more mature response to that. Come here, I'm gonna--"

Something in the air created by the tension of their highly difficult mission and the realization at that point that they were not prepared whatsoever for the situation caused the two men to clash for an instant, despite the significant size difference. Cross was flung back in the scuffle, pinwheeling his arms to try and gain his balance before he fell backward into the grass, and disappeared.

"Where'd he... what'd you... how did that...?" Pearl stuttered.

Soren was taken aback. "My goodness. That wasn't what I expected to happen at all..."

Angela had finally looked up from her book. "Hunh, where did Cross go?"

A brown-haired head emerged from the grass at the edge of the road at the same level as their feet, giving the illusion that Cross was lying on the ground. He was, in reality, standing.

"This is trespasser's weed! A patch of this grew between my old farm and the neighbouring one. I'd use it all the time."

"How far did you fall down there?" Soren asked with a concern that bordered on apologetic.

"Ah, this stuff has got to be nine feet tall, and I don't even think we're in the thick of it. Hey, let's see how close we can get to the mansion in here! It's worth a shot, right?"

Pearl looked at Soren, shrugged and jumped in without another word. The lumberjack stared into the grass after her.

"We'll have to be particularly careful in here... but he's right; it _is_ worth a shot."

He took a few running steps before leaping in after the other two. Angela had re-immersed herself in the book and simply plodded in the general direction she had seen everyone else go, finally tripping on the unexpected drop into the grass. The inside of the mass of vegetation was clustered with too much of the weed to see far in any direction, but they could easily follow each others' voices. Cross led the way to the mansion, guiding them with his voice at first and finally linking hands with the others in single file to keep them all hidden under the camouflage, without anything to give them away. Eventually he made them all stop, and quietly he slid through the trespasser's weed on his own to the very edge. He parted two sections of grass in front of him with a practiced stealth and peeked into the yard beyond. Soon after he turned around to whisper to his companions.

"There's a small ditch to climb before about four yards of lawn between us and what I think is a basement door. No fence."

"Does it look like two doors that open outward, almost built into the ground?" Soren checked.

"Yes."

"Is it latched shut?"

"I couldn't tell."

"Damn... alright, it's definitely a basement door, but we can't get in if there's a lock on the latch."

"Well, there's a guard patrolling the lawn we got to be careful of, but I think if we run up quietly enough when he's turned the other way, he shouldn't notice us. He looks pretty tired, probably not feeling the most alert..."

"Now's the time, then. Let's all go up at once."

The four of them lined up along the side of the ditch, still hidden in the grass, and when Cross signalled them they all burst through the brush and rushed to the boards in the ground. Soren reached them first and found no lock on the latch to betray their entry. He held a single door open on it's hinge as the other three ducked inside and closed the door after himself while the guard was still looking in the other direction. Considering they had done it in broad daylight, the operation was flawless.

Dust-laden steps led into the dark basement which was alive with the sounds of wildlife. Slightly perturbed, the foursome crept cautiously around the first corner to a disheartening sight. Locked up in steel cages stacked to the ceiling were animals never seen in Serdio. It was a collection of rare and foreign fauna, saved as either exotic pets or awaiting a more horrific fate. He heard Angela gasp behind him and out of the corner of his eye he could see Pearl trying to avert her eyes. As much as he wanted to free the pitiable creatures that were whining and shreiking, while not favoring the growling ones, they would have to be forgotten for now. It would cause too much of a ruckus for their cover to remain intact, so he lead the way through the prison, making sure not to look into the cages to spare himself the grief. After rounding a corner in the maze formed by the hundreds of cages, he noticed a staircase leading up to his right. Just as he was preparing to go up, another guard entered the aisle between him and the stairs, saw him, and turned to run up the stairs and raise the alarm.

Exploding with a rush of adrenaline at nearly being caught, Cross bounded up the stairs after him, grabbed the man by his shirt, turned and flung him back into the basement. The man yelled in surprise, but was stunned long enough for Soren to pin him on the ground under one enormous boot. Pearl brandished her sword menacingly, causing their prisoner to gulp loudly. Cross swore he could even hear it over the racket of the imprisoned creatures.

"You're gonna tell us where your boss is, and we're not gonna chop you up into tonight's dinner," Soren rattled a nearby cage, "for these hungry babies."

"He's in his study on the third floor, probably. Blue door. Can't miss it," the subordinate whimpered without hesitation, eager to save himself.

"Going up there's a bad idea though. Boss just hired a new body guard, an' if he's getting as much bang as he gave buck, you're all gonna die. Ha ha, there's what, four of you? No question, you're goin' to have a _real_ hard time with h-"

"I've had enough out of your mouth," Soren lifted his foot away from the man's chest. "You'd better lay there a long time, because if I see your face again today, it'll be the last time it looks the way it does now."

Without another word they all turned to make their way up the stairs, with Pearl bringing up the rear as her companions climbed ahead.

* * *

Cross stood before the blue study door the basement guard had spoken of. It was, in fact, double doors with an exquisite entry decorated by carvings and thin lines of gold paint. Nailed to the wood was a sign written in dainty hand which read: _Please knock and wait to be answered_. This had to be it. They had fought their way up two floors, through twelve armed guards and one frightened butler. Their enemies had been cast aside with relative ease, rarely dead but all incapacitated in more than a few ways. It had seemed almost too easy, despite their great strength for such deceptively small numbers. Not one of their enemies had expected four people – two men and two women – to possibly be able to infiltrate the well populated stronghold and plunder the riches of its inhabitant. That had been their downfall.

"Everyone ready? I think I know a few questions I want answered."

Grumbles of affirmation from behind him. A quick look over his shoulder and he could see the ready faces of his entourage behind him – all except for Pearl. She had underestimated the impact of a life-or-death struggle, where you had to either kill or be killed. In the critical moment, though, she had pulled through and defended herself, sweeping three men aside with the flat part of the wide blade. Cross turned back to face the door and took a deep breath. After a brief pause, he breathed in again, twisted one of the polished golden knobs and yanked the door open in one motion before rushing in spear-first.

What was beyond the door was a long rectangular study – more of a library considering the stacked shelves on either side of the room. The tall roof and curved shape to the ceiling almost made it feel like a cathedral. At the opposite end to the door was a glass window that took up the entire wall and through which could be seen the prairie beyond the city limits, ablaze with color in the afternoon light. Rays of the amber light poured through the window, casting a light source on a huge desk neatly placed before the window. There was someone seated at the desk and what appeared to be a woman standing to his left, slightly out of view... but no one else.

"Ah! What's this? It seems we have company, and hardly unexpected at that," the quavering voice of an insect spoke from behind the desk.

"Hardly... unexpected? You must be Bouillard."

It felt like a steel ball inside of Cross' chest was slowly expanding, working its way up his throat and out of his mouth. The excitement of the battle in the hall was a part of it, the other was anticipation of squeezing anything he could out of their target. He had lain in bed the previous night, tossing and twisting in the sheets as though he were covered in invisible snakes and his writhing was an attempt to match theirs. Every hateful image he had ascribed to the mercenaries in the fields or the church of Soa was being imprinted on whoever he had to track down for the King. It had been building up inside of him from the day he was beaten and thrown into the woods, consuming him and growing every time he even touched on the thought of that day. Now that the respected monarch had pointed him the right way, Cross simply could not wait to break off running in that direction to make sure that everyone in the church never forgot what they did to him.

"I am he. And I say you are expected due to the highly raucous nature of your arrival. I could hear the commotion from downstairs before you even invaded this floor. And what curious invaders you are! You hardly look like knights, and are even too shabby for Neo-Dragonians. What could possibly compel a ragtag bunch like yourselves to break into _my_ mansion at your own peril, as if it were some kind of bedraggled market for you to plunder for paltry rewards?"

Despite the fact that he was cornered, the suitor spoke in a mocking, condescending tone on the verge of laughter. This did not unsettle Cross in the least, in fact it goaded his rage like a lion taunted by its tamer. The wealthy man stood up from his seat and formally clasped his hands behind his back. His tailored suit showed his spindly, malnourished frame yet was dignified and proper on its own. It did not sag or seem to cling desperately to his long and stick-thin structure, but fit perfectly - a sign in itself of his wealth.

"You shut up! _We're_ here to ask some questions, rich boy, and unless we get our answers, all this money of yours isn't going to mean a thing!"

"Haha, you are impassioned, I see. And you refer to me as a boy when it is you who appear to be the boy. Tell me, young man, how old _are_ you? I bet you scream like a spoiled girl when you're hurt..."

"What was that?! I'll put enough holes in you for a-"

"Cross! Calm down, we still need to interrogate him," the wizened voice commanded from behind Soren's beard.

"Cross? Is that your name? Hm, I swear I've heard it before..." Bouillard pondered for a moment, "oh, well. There was a phrase my late father told me as a boy, and it was that 'wealth does not come without its share of misgivings.' I guess you lot are just one of those misgivings."

He lifted his right arm and flicked his fingers inward - a distracted gesture. On demand the woman who had been standing off to the side stepped into the golden beams of light shooting into the room and crossed her arms. Her skin was an odd hue, seeming both orange and dark brown, making her as exotic as any creature Bouillard had collected in his basement. Her folded arms emphasized a pair of swords strapped to her waist, one on either side.

"And like any such nuisance, you will have to be dealt with, regardless of the mess. Oh well, blood can be cleaned up. It shan't stain the wood floors, will it?" He glanced over at his bodyguard as if expecting an answer, then chuckled smugly. She continued to look bored and slightly irritated in the presence of the suitor.

"We're not here for your money, Bouillard! It's our understanding that a large sum of your wealth belongs to the church of Soa and you're going to tell us why, exactly, that is!" Soren boomed in the expansive room.

Bouillard's face soured at this, a break in his pompous disposition.

"You're in no position to be making demands of me, sir. As long as there is still a bodyguard between yourselves and I, you hold no command over me."

"Come on! You actually want us to fight a belly dancer? Why don't you just answer the question?" Pearl added in.

The hired guard appeared to take offence at that remark, despite the fact that she did look like a belly dancer, with attractive white harem pants that clung to her thighs and waist but billowed out at the calves, ending in a cuffed ankle. Her back-length black hair was kept from her face with a red headband that seemed tribal in appearance, adorned with bright orange markings that matched her blouse and the sheaths of her weapons.

Henri Bouillard gave an exasperated sigh.

"Ikaika, earn your pay. Deal with them."

The exotic bodyguard nodded and as she stepped forward withdrew a single-edged black falcata from its sheath. The blade of the strange weapon pitched forward as it reached the point, creating an indent shape closer to the hilt but appearing to get thicker towards the top. It somehow looked old and barely functional but still brutally dangerous. With her other hand she unsheathed a long rapier that appeared to be untouched. The exquisitely crafted gold rings and knuckle bow - as opposed to a round cup - were not stained or tarnished, and the blade glinted like a new silver dollar in the blazing light.

"This should be easy. She looks like she can barely hold those," Cross muttered with irritation.

"I believe it would be appropriate to assume that his confidence is not unwarranted," Soren cautioned.

As she advanced her speed picked up and she broke into a run towards them. Her quickness was not affected by the weapons at all.

"I should have guessed," Cross sighed. None of this was _ever_ easy.

Ikaika's target appeared to be Pearl for admonishing that belly dancer comment. As she quickly closed the distane between them, Pearl attempted another wide swing with her sword to keep the attacker at bay. When the deadly chunk of metal made a sweep, creating a large rush of air, the bodyguard lithely performed an aerial cartwheel over it. She landed directly in front of Pearl, in a perfect position to strike with those swords. The momentum of the aerial gave her enough force to swing the falcata in an overhead arc once one of her feet had touched the ground, but a wooden shaft shot out to block the blow. She immediately turned and made a horizontal swing at Cross' waist, which he barely avoided. Pearl quickly recovered and the two tried to simultaneously attack their foe, who backpedaled and countered with equal efficiency. The way she wildly swung both blades in arcs, circles and feints was almost like a dance and confounded both of her attackers. Pearl soon became frustrated, wound up and delivered an overhead strike of her own. Ikaika arched backwards and did a handspring over the desk, which was easily split in two with a resounding crash. Bouillard was still standing behind it.

"EEK!" he screeched.

"Last chance, you coward!" Cross threatened the tall but skinny man before him, "tell us why you-"

Out of nowhere he was slashed across the forearm. _Damn, she's quick!_ The bodyguard leaped up and kicked Pearl away from her blade, which was firmly lodged in the floor. Now Cross was on the defensive. He backed away, parrying what seemed like hundreds of blows from the relentless attacker. When he tried to make a thrust to gain some breathing room Ikaika rotated her wrist, sliding her sword up the shaft of the spear, controlling it as the tip spun in circles. Even though he was gripping it in both hands, Cross couldn't control his weapon at all, and then his hand was cut open between his thumb and forefinger, causing him to drop his spear.

As his foe was about to deliver the final blow Soren appeared and pushed her back with his ax placed horizontally in both hands.

"We don't want to harm you, miss. Please yield and let us converse with Bouillard, and when we have our answers your employment to him will be meaningless."

"I'm under contract to protect _Mister_ Henri Bouillard at all costs," she finally spoke, and her voice was stern yet beautiful, "and if I gave up now, I wouldn't be that reputable to my future employers, would I?"

Before Soren could issue a rebuttal she attacked again, forcing him backward as she chipped away pieces from his wood axe. He soon stumbled, and she took advantage of it and push kicked him into a bookshelf. His entire weight fell backwards into the wooden structure, crushing blocks of wood and burying the huge man under a waterfall of books. As she watched the last of the volumes bounce dustily off the top of the pile, Cross saw an opportunity and boldly took it. Unarmed, he took off at a run and threw his full weight into a tackle aimed at the female bodyguard. It struck home, knocking her off both feet and sending each of her weapons to the floor with a hollow _tink_. What happened next he couldn't have expected. She scrambled immediately to her feet and when he rose as well she wrapped one hand around the crown of his head and pulled him in close, her elbow digging painfully into his chest. His left arm felt trapped as well but he couldn't tell how, it all seemed like some bizarre hug to him. With amazing speed and strength she twisted one-hundred eighty degrees around and used her hips to whip him off the ground and clinch throw him into a nearby decorative table, the legs of which snapped immediately as Cross' full weight destroyed it. Stunned and winded, he lay helplessly in the debris of the table.

Triumphantly now the bodyguard stood over the defeated boy, who had been only that; a boy. Wild and desperate, inexperienced for sure. For a moment she may have even admired him for his will. What others would have taken for stubborn, she at once knew was passionate. It was in the midst of relishing this victory that she suddenly found herself unconscious.

Pearl cracked her knuckles after the blow to the base of their adversaries' neck. She did not take pleasure in sneaking up from behind, and silently hoped she hadn't struck too hard.

Angela could be seen tending to the injured Cross, and Soren had just begun to dig himself out of the mountain of books. A skeletal shadow moved across the brilliantly lit bay window, but as it reached the shelves on the left side of the room Pearl cornered Bouillard, who froze with fright.

"Hey, please... listen, d-don't hurt me. I ain't the one who attacked you, right?"

His hands were raised in surrender, and Pearl noted that his big words had left him along with his pompous attitude.

"I'm thinking of hurtin' ya, unless of course you answer the big fella's question; why's it that you keep paying the church? What can you tell us about what's going on in Serdio? How many people were killed?"

The room took on a somber silence. Henri Bouillard's face was stricken, then defeated. His oily, combed hair had fallen into his face, and he messily wiped it back, but it simply fell down again. Cross had recovered enough to be listening intently, and though nobody noticed, Ikaika had begun to awaken on the floor and could hear as well.

"I always gave them money because I had plenty... more than I even needed for all this... but they gave me more than the money could ever be worth! You couldn't even understand!"

"I _don't_ understand, and I don't care. You've gotta be pretty tight with their inner circle, so you have to know what they're using your money for."

He ran his thumb and forefinger over the thin moustache outlining his upper lip, his eyes treading as carefully as his words.

"They'd use it for any number of things. This time they told me they were using it for hiring some soldiers, but they didn't say what for..."

"Liar!"

"Alright! Alright! They were sending them to the fields! They were t-t-told to take any land, or life, that was there. Official documents were issued, i-it was all so _expensive_. But it was for a purpose... something a stupid peasant like you couldn't wrap your head around if you tried-"

As he had spoken Bouillard had slowly backed into a narrow bookcase and shifted one of the books with his hand. The panel of shelving rotated around to reveal a blank surface that Pearl couldn't break through no matter how hard she tried. Her knuckles bled after the effort, and as Angela began to wrap them in bandage she could hear Bouillard's shrill laughter as he fled down some secret passage.

* * *

**Oh man, it has been a while. I have been tied up in school a lot, among other things I also like to do. But I can't get this story off my mind. I always want to keep getting back at it, but rarely find the time. It's weird. But I apologize for the slowness. To make up for it I powered through as much as I could and in 2 weeks came up with a double-whammy; my treat for you. Anyone who keeps reading this... well, you're just awesome. Thanks**


	11. Lords of the Underground

**Disclaimer:** Fuck that shit go to chapter one if you're a bitch about legal stuff.

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter 11: Lords of the Underground**

When the mocking laughter of their foe had at last faded away, the group was left injured, empty-handed, and silent. Cross sat with his back against the wall, his head in his hands. What he already knew to be true had been confirmed, but he hadn't learned anything new from the struggle. It all felt hopelessly pointless after the fact - like they had gone to such lengths for nothing. Angela, who was still tending to her friends, had acquired a blank look to her eyes as she worked. There it had been again; proof that everything she had been raised to accept and advocate was untrue. She was too confused to think clearly about anything. Pearl looked apologetic. Somehow, she felt responsible for the sour mood they had been left in, having been the one to interrogate Bouillard. She wanted to cheer everyone up, but words escaped her at the time. So she occupied herself by searching for another switch to open the passage. Soren stood with his hands on his hips, staring out the window. The four of them barely noticed when Ikaika stood up and approached them.

"Hey, it's... Ikaika, right? Do you know where that passage goes, or where your boss might have run off to? We really need to find him," Pearl spoke to the woman as though they had not been fighting tooth-and-nail mere minutes before.

"Former boss now, I'm afraid," she replied in a disappointed tone, to the surprise of everyone in the room, "Henri is going to go into hiding now. He'll be out of the city within the hour, and the country by tomorrow night."

The four seemed to simultaneously sigh their disappointment. They were a curious bunch to her, and she was particularly intrigued by the boy sitting near the wall. He seemed more stricken by the news than his companions. Ikaika turned to leave and found it startlingly hard by the time she had taken a few steps. What was this feeling?

"I didn't know anything about the fields," she said without emotion, "but maybe I would have had second thoughts about working for Henri if I had. I only did it because-"

Suddenly Cross had an idea.

"You're out of a job now right?" He stood up and directly addressed the warrior whose back was to him.

"You should come work with us! We could really use you, and we can even have you paid for it if-"

"Cross!" Angela muttered venomously, "are you sure you should go making promises before asking the king?"

Ikaika hadn't heard her. "_Use_ me, hm?" She seemed amused by the idea.

"Well, that's not exactly what I meant... but you sure gave us a hard time. And I've got a feeling it's only going to get more difficult from here on in, so... um... you're help would be much... appreciated?" He tried carefully to word it right.

She thought hard about it. She had worked for Henri because of his connections to the church, not for the money. But she wouldn't tell them that. Not yet. Now she had her own questions that needed to be answered, and these were the only people she could turn to.

"Alright, show me to your employer. We'll have to discuss my terms and pay from there."

* * *

Schuldiner was having a great day. He strode calmly past the parapets of the castle, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the wind on his neck. Getting rid of those bothersome children and that pompous scholar had turned out to be the perfect start to his day. They had surely given up when realizing the difficulty of their mission, and if not had perished in the effort. It left him in a good mood for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, despite the mounds of paperwork he had been forced to file under 'Shadow Chasers'; the codename for His Majesty's secret service. Four new names had been added to the roster -Sir Soren, Cross, Angela and Pearl- which he would be sure to burn when they didn't retu-

"Hey, Captain! _Captain_!"

He glanced around. All the guards were manning their stations (especially since he was around) and none seemed to be approaching him with urgency. But still, he knew that voice...

"Down here!"

Over the edge of the wall and down was a sight that seemed to shake his very being. All four of them were still alive, relatively unharmed and what was worse; _they had another one with them_. Wonderful. More paperwork. He met them beyond the gates, in the vast courtyard alive with a mosaic of floral magnificence. Sure to step on a wilted magnolia as he approached them, he clasped his hands formally behind his back. He was wringing them vigorously with frustration.

"Good to see that you're all... alright!" He smiled.

"Bad news, cap. The mission was a failure," Pearl gave a thumbs-down, "are we fired?"

"Well, it depends. How so of a failure? Your identity was not compromised, was it?" He finally let some of his anger show through.

"No, our integrity is sound," Soren breathed, "we managed to infiltrate the mansion" (Schuldiner's eyebrows nearly climbed to his hairline) "and question the target. He admitted to financially aiding the Church of Soa and gave some subtle indication that they were, in fact, responsible for the genocide. But nothing of much use. Then he escaped."

The Captain's mood changed. He had underestimated these vagrants. Perhaps they were not such a nuisance at all - perhaps they were useful.

"Perhaps the mission was not a complete failure after all. I mean, you're all still alive, aren't you?"

"You're right, Captain," the farmer, Cross spoke. He didn't like that one. Something about the electricity in his gaze was unnerving.

"I still wish we could have gotten more out of that Bouillard. He was so scared he would have spilled everything to us to save his neck. That guy was a rat."

"More of a snake, actually," Angela spoke without looking up from her book, which had consumed her once again, "he looked like more of a snake-"

"Whatever. Besides all that, we found a new ally. This is Ikaika. She- hey!"

Ikaika had turned around and started to walk away again.

"Wait, where are you going? Aren't you going to help us? I said we could pay you if that's-"

"That was before I knew you four were working for the knighthood. This is all over my head. Besides, I doubt that I'm wanted here."

"We have plenty of knights at our disposal. It has never been necessary for the kingdom of Izezuza to stoop to hiring mercenaries."

"What about us?" Pearl asked.

"That's different..." Schuldiner began before he was cut off by a bellow from behind him.

"Captain! I see you're debriefing the honorary recruits of the Shadow Chasers here. Have they completed their first assignment already?"

The king Adalbert Aemelius advanced toward them, followed by two guards in full regalia who fell several steps behind as he neared the group.

"Yes, Your Highness. They acquired little information..." he looked to their expectant faces, "...but completed their mission nonetheless."

Cross felt a surge of pride. He prepared to address the king, who was clothed in a surprisingly ordinary riding uniform of the traditional green colour. He must have just come from the stables, because his cloak was still decorated with bits of straw.

"Ad- I mean, Your Highness, uh Sir. I was wondering if we-"

Soren saw the boy struggling with his words and stepped in.

"What the boy's trying to say, Adalbert, is that it has been brought to our attention that that woman over there," he pointed toward Ikaika, who was staring at the King, "is not to be taken in for just her looks. She is a great warrior of tremendous skill who is not to be trifled with. She has also expressed interest in joining our cause, but for a slight monetary earning."

He rubbed the tips of his thumb, index and middle fingers, signifying _money_.

"Your Majesty," the captain butted in quickly, "it is my humble duty to suggest that the public may not be pleased if we consort with mercenaries. We have a knighthood for that, it's not like we can just let anyone join at their own insistence."

"Bastion, I'm disappointed with you," the soldier blushed at the use of his first name, "it is a _secret_ service, is it not? The public doesn't have to know. Soren, if it is your wish that this woman be your escort, I will see to it that she is paid in full. I trust your judgement."

As Soren thanked him he surprised them all by strolling across the yellow cobblestones and offering his hand to the exotic beauty.

"I take the word of my friends over all others, and I pride myself in taking no part of discrimination. It would be my pleasure to welcome to into the Shadow Chasers, should you accept it."

Her expression did not change. A king's money was as good as anyone else, but this meant something more. Her intrigue concerning their motives won over, however, and she took the monarch's hand. Besides, she had not expected to be shaking hands with the king today. He swiftly raised the soft, dark flesh to his lips and kissed it. She did not react, save a nod of her head.

"So very serious," he said politely, not letting his disappointment show, "Soren must be right about you."

"I earn my salary. And I wouldn't want to disappoint Your Majesty, or any of my employers for that matter."

"Excellent. Then it's settled. You'll be joining your friends on their next mission, when the captain and myself choose to assign it. And you'll have to swear your confidentiality, of course. A guard will show you to your quarters inside."

"What about my rate?"

"It's not important," he waved his hand, "leave a note for the maid and your gold will be there when you return."

"Funny, I've never heard of maids who _leave_ tips."

He laughed loudly at that, then turned back to the others.

"There you have it. I'll be seeing you all tomorrow. Captain Schuldiner, come with me. We have some things to discuss."

The captain stifled a groan. How had they earned the king's favour so easily, when he had been working so hard for so many years?

* * *

The next day the air was filled with moisture boiled out of the ocean and ground by the beaming sun. The mugginess amplified the temperature to an even greater degree, so that less people were outside of their homes and those who did wore scarce clothing or carried fans. Lately it was always sunny in Fletz. In the pleasantly cool cellar that was their headquarters on castle grounds, the entire team of the secret service had been assembled. Even the king himself was present for this briefing. Schuldiner stood before his men, his slithery, serious voice consuming the damp air of the basement.

"Though the rest of you may not be aware, we have some new recruits in the Shadow Chasers. You're new colleagues have already completed their first mission and gained some valuable information, and I expect the lot of you to be just as tenacious. We have entered a volatile time. A time where the peace we have broken our bones and spilled our own blood to maintain shows it's true fragility. War is now a very real possibility. This is what you've all been training for. Though they may never know your name, this is when you show your country what you will give to protect it."

Cross looked at the dark faces around him. There was no admiration, no sentimentality. They were all disconnected, unmoved by their captain's patriotic and emotional speech. Perhaps their seriousness was why they were who they were, able to complete any mission at all costs, unhindered by feelings. In that way he envied them.

"Most of you know the situation so far; we have reason to believe that the church of Soa has committed genocide in our southernmost state and now the Neo-Dragonians are on the move. We know what they're capable of and that they will stop at nothing to rid the world of the church for what they have done. Noble as that may seem, we cannot ignore the potential damage this will cause to our sovereign nation. Death has been brought to our lands, and to them... death is the only answer."

He glared at them from beneath his brow and plodded to a nearby map on the wall. He pointed on the map to a point west of what was marked as Fletz, where the jagged coastline formed a bay near the collapsed former city.

"As of yesterday we are aware of a shipyard in this location. Corporal Dene was assigned to investigate the area, and his entire team was annihilated in the ensuing struggle."

Uneasy grunts began to fill the room. Cross twisted around to see the aforementioned Dene leaning against the back wall with his arms folded before him. Nearly his entire face was bandaged excluding a single hateful eye that peered out at them. The farmer gulped. He hoped that wasn't where they were going next.

"Quiet! Eyes up front, men! We don't yet know what the purpose of this shipyard is, but it seems to have appeared overnight. It may be where the mercenaries of the church originated from, or it could be something completely different. The majority of you will be tasked with obtaining as much information about this as possible. Use all of your contacts, and stay alert. There's no telling what those involved might do to keep this quiet. So good luck. Dismissed!"

Cross and the others stood up to leave.

"The five of you stay here with myself and His Majesty."

They could hear the mumblings of the other soldiers as they filed out of the room, complaining about how the rookies got special treatment when they were stuck with the cold investigations.

"The king and myself came up with a special assignment for you four- is she taking part in this?"

Angela had remained seated, glued to the pages of her book which were hardly visible in the dim candlelight.

"Yes, ah, I'm listening."

"I wouldn't have guessed. From the last mission you might have realized that our best way of tracking the church is through financial activity. We have tabs on every major transaction that takes place within these city walls."

"How's that?"

"Years ago," the king explained, "we realized that the banks in this city were corrupt and profiting off the needs of the people. Extortion, blackmail, it's amazing what power people will assume they have once they get enough money. Since the royal family itself has it's own treasures and gold, we took it upon ourselves to subsume every bank and protect the gold of the citizens along with our own. A whole knighthood is dedicated to the protection of these branches. It also allows us to track large sums being moved about. Even the church can't hide them from us."

"Anyway," the captain continued, "this has allowed us to locate another target. We've been tracking this one for some time now."

"Another rich house for us to break into?" Cross seemed displeased, "is this going to be the same as last time?"

"The same, and still different," the king pointed out, "I'm afraid you may find this one a little more difficult."

"Thank you, Your Highness. And he is correct. Your last assignment was... a test. I guess you could look at this one as the 'real thing'."

"What have you got in mind?"

"Your target this time is a Ms. Agnes Roderick. She's a wealthy widow nearly a century old. Never worked a day in her life. She inherited her husband's entire estate since her children had either died at war or of sickness. But she isn't the one you want to watch out for."

He produced a sketch of a broad-shouldered man with blonde hair cresting a high, wrinkled forehead. Above his almond-shaped eyes one of his thick eyebrows was fissured in two. The countenance looked remarkably lifelike, and mean.

"She hired this man, Bryce Barra, as her head of security. Old woman, living all alone, more money than she knows what to do with, has got to have protection. He built a twelve-foot wall surrounding the entire house that seems to block out more than intruders, but anything that goes on inside. We believe it was he who convinced her to donate part of her fortune to the church, since our spies are constantly finding him at processions and gatherings. He's an elusive bastard, though. I've had men track him to dead-end alleys where they say he just... _disappears_."

The captains' face seemed more than disconcerted as he said this.

"Also, him and his security personnel are closely linked to _this_ man."

He brought forward yet another sketch. The second profile showed a man with chiseled features, gruff facial hair, square jaw, a calm expression and black hair. He looked confident, like he may have killed whoever the artist had been shortly afterwards.

"Who's that?"

"I know who that is," Ikaika spoke in her musical yet tough voice, "that's Ryle Salmillia, lord of the Fletz underground, isn't it?"

"That's exactly right," Schuldiner looked up from the portrait, "many consider him the most dangerous and influential criminal to ever walk these streets. He's a pirate moored in the great docks attached to the city, and we've somehow been unable to locate his vessel."

"He sure looks the part." Pearl mused.

"He's killed many of my men. In the event that you encounter him, I would suggest you stay clear. There's no telling what he might do. Remember, your target is either Barra or Roderick, since they have the information you need. A fight with Salmillia will only lead to unnecessary violence."

"Alright, captain," Soren gathered the documents in one giant paw, "thank you for the ample warning. We'll be sure to use our better discretion on this mission."

"You'd better be sure," Schuldiner spoke with a caution yet unheard from him, "your lives may just depend on it."

* * *

When they were on the considerably less populated streets of the city once again, descending the crest of a steep hill leading to the western district of Fletz, Cross felt a tug at his shirt. It was Ikaika.

"Cross, I know now what our mission to the knighthood is, but something still... troubles me."

For the first time Cross saw the stone-cold mercenary get flustered.

"I can see something else that drives you. Something beyond just a mission owed to the King of your country. I see a man who has something deep inside him like an open wound."

Now Cross felt a little flustered. No one had referred to him as a 'man' before, unless it was some kind of joke.

"I... don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not very good at hiding it. It's in your eyes, it's in the way you fight. I've seen it before. It's hate that drives you. So tell me Cross; where does your hate come from?"

The young man sighed and looked behind them. Their allies had fallen back a little, Pearl and Soren joking amongst themselves, Angela even further back, still consumed by her book. He turned back around. From where they were on the hill they could see out to the fields beyond the city, and just at the horizon the black smoke clouds billowing out to the ozone. She followed his eyes to the spot and noticed it for the first time.

"Have you ever lost someone you loved? Or, I should say, had them taken away from you?"

"Yes." Her voice and overall attitude changed, but he ignored it.

"Everyone I ever loved," he pointed ahead to the clouds, "is up there. A part of that smoke. My father's up there."

It was harder to get the last part out than he had thought. He nearly choked on the words. The pain was still there, still strong.

"Oh," another first from the cold mercenary; she now showed some emotion. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. There's someone out there, someone in the church, who I'm going to _make_ sorry. I know it was someone in that damn church, and I don't know what made them think they could just... _destroy_ me like that without any consequence. But I'll make them pay."

"At least you're still here, and alive."

"What?"

"You said they destroyed you, but you're still here. You're still alive. What you do with your life is your choice, but you should live it to its best."

"I didn't say that. I said they destroyed my home."

"No, you- never mind," she broke off and walked further ahead, ending the conversation.

What was that all about? He hadn't really said that, had he? This new ally of theirs was certainly strange. If Cross didn't know any better, he'd say she wanted nothing to do with attacking the church like this. The way she reacted to their objective was strange, but... he guessed that he shouldn't just make assumptions like that. Still...

"Hold on," Soren's massive hand clasped his shoulder, "that's it up ahead."

The street they were on exited into a court with a grand fountain in the center. Children who had been playing regardless of the heat cooled themselves by splashing in the water until a nearby guard chased them out. Their feet left tiny wet prints on the stone that evaporated seconds later in the sweltering heat. To their right was an old boarded-up building with stained-glass windows and a tin roof. An abandoned church, eery and ominous in the still day. A ways down the street from that was a tall stone gate surrounding a huge, sprawling mansion that would have made Henri Bouillard green with envy. Every few feet sharp metal spikes jutted from the stone surface, and at the front of the estate was an elaborately forged steel gate, behind which several guards could be seen sweating for their pay. It was in the middle of everything, and much more well guarded than Bouillard's abode. It would be far more difficult to get inside.

"Okay, now's where we start arguing about what to do next, right?" Pearl clapped her hands together, "or did somebody have a plan this time?"

"Actually, I did have something in mind for this," Soren piped up.

"Aw, I wanted to come up with a way to get in this time, even if it was by accident," disappointment soaked her voice.

"The four of you wait near the wall next to the gate, and make sure you're not seen. I'm going to do a little soliciting."

The others did as they were told as Soren brushed off his clothes and put on his business face. He picked between his teeth with a nail, took a deep breath and pushed his chest out before approaching the gate.

"Excuse me, sir! Beautiful day isn't it? I was wondering if I could please speak to your supervisor?"

The guard stared at him from between the bars with the face of a hungry wolf staring at a pile of tree bark. His exhausted face was drenched with sweat, the morning had taken its toll on him so far.

"Bryce! There's some stiff at the gate! Looks like he's selling something!"

Soren found himself not waiting very long at all before the blonde man from the sketch made his way to the gate and looked suspiciously out at him. As he got nearer Soren realized that he was nearly the same height as the man called Bryce, and the drawing did him more justice than his hateful face was worth.

"What's your story merchant?" He growled.

"I was wondering if I could come inside and speak to Miss..." he had to try to remember the name. The intense, somewhat frightening face before him had caused his memory to lapse. "Roderick! I was wondering if she'd be interested in purchasing some..." (he hadn't thought about it) "furniture! I have some exquisite furniture crafted from the finest Serdian redwood and cedar that would certainly befit an upper-class citizen such as-"

"Where are your wares?"

"Pardon me?"

"_Where are your wares?_ You don't come to somebody's door selling expensive furniture and not have a sample of some sort."

"Well, I'd have to carry it all-"

"Not that a big guy like you would have a problem carrying a couple pieces of furniture, but a merchant would have a cart and horse to carry all that on. You're a terrible liar."

"Sir, surely you jest, I-"

"No, I ain't 'jesting'. And as much as I'm curious about why you thought a bunch of bullshit like that would get you in here, I'm just going to tell you to get the hell out of here before I have my men drag you inside and take a couple of your fingers so you remember not to come back."

"My intention was only to-"

"Shut up! Yeah, I bet you're intentions were only to sell some furniture to some rich old lady, but did you think I didn't know about that bunch you got hiding around the corner?"

Soren's mouth gaped. He shut it to try and come up with a response, but it only opened soundlessly again. This guy was good. Security worth every penny. Either that or he was trying to hide something more than an old woman's fortune.

"Now do what I told you and get the hell outta here."

At first Soren didn't move. Despite the gate separating them, he was rooted in place by Barra's vicious stare and sharp tongue.

"Go on."

He retreated. His companions met him a few steps away, clueless as to what to do next.

"Well, I think we can say that was a complete failure," Cross admonished.

"Hey the big guy tried didn't he? Don't give him too hard a time."

"Thanks, Pearl. But something _about_ him... he even knew that you were all waiting out here to break in. He's good. He might be too good for us to even hope to get in."

"I've got a backup plan," Ikaika said, "Cross, you and Pearl come with me. When we get in, we'll open up the gate for you two. Come on, this way."

Pearl eagerly followed her back the way they had come. Cross hung back for a moment, wondering why Soren and Pearl couldn't join them, then followed. Ikaika led them into an alley some way down the street and began to climb a drainage pipe on the wall.

"What are we doing?"

"We can't get in through the front, so we're going to drop in from above. We'll go across the rooftops and then find a way over the gate. Then we let Soren and Angela in, and from there..." She continued to climb up.

"I like this idea! I'm sure glad we brought you along now, Ikaika!" Pearl began to easily haul herself up the iron pipe, like the huge blade attached at her back wasn't even there.

Cross had a little more difficulty working his fingers into the small space between the pipe and the wall. He could barely grip onto the thin steel fasteners attaching the pipe to the wall, and his feet kept slipping off. Soon his fingers were raw, making it even harder. As he desperately tried to reach the top, one of his fingernails caught and was ripped off. No wonder they didn't bring the other two, it would have been impossible to get them up. After a struggle that left his hands bleeding and his arms feeling weak and hurt, he finally hoisted himself over the ledge. When he stood, all he could see in any direction were shingled and flat roofs, the occasional spire or wall, and sky. It was a pleasant change from the cluttered streets below, and he was suddenly glad he had come along. That gladness soon dissipated when Ikaika told them what to do next.

"We jump across until we reach the mansion. Keep running, and don't lose any speed. You don't want to fall."

She broke off and began running at full speed, leaping effortlessly to the next rooftop when she reached the edge. Pearl happily followed, and the two acrobatically dived and flipped over and across anything in their way. Showoffs. Cross clumsily followed, nearly slipping at every jump and falling far behind. Far away, a novice roofer sat up in his harness and wiped the sweat from his brow. Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, he shouted to his cousin.

"Hey, check out these crazy folks!"

His cousin, a seasoned roofer of many years, sat up from nailing down shingles and shielded his eyes in the same manner. A good ways away they could see the trio jumping from building to building, _ooh_-ing their approval at every leap and flip. The younger worker noticed that two of them were girls, and pretty ones too. It was an interesting distraction.

"Alright, quit wasting time, asshole. The sooner we lay these shingles, the sooner we can get drunk."

He couldn't argue with that, so he got back to work.

Meanwhile, the three daredevils soon reached their objective. But the jump was too far, the fall would surely break them upon impact with the ground.

"What now?" Cross panted. He was already drenched with sweat.

"There's got to be some way we can..." Ikaika thought hard but she, too, seemed to be at a loss.

"I know! I got an idea now! Ha! Just you two wait!" Pearl flew over a nearby chimney and was out of sight.

She returned with a wooden ladder tall enough to exceed the sides of the building they were on.

"Where did that come from?"

"Some nice guys laying flat stuff on a roof lent it to me. They said we'd have to bring it back, though."

"What are we gonna do with it?"

The two girls looked at Cross wordlessly. He gulped.

Ten minutes later the ladder was propped level on top of a chimney as close to the edge as they could find. Pearl stood on one end, both hands on the topmost rung, while Ikaika held the wooden frame steady against the brick platform. At the opposite end of the ladder, Cross dangled twenty feet over the ground. He looked down to see his own sweat drip onto hapless passersby below. Heights didn't bother him, but this felt ridiculous.

"Why am I the one -ugh- out on the end?" He strained to hold on.

"Stop complaining," Ikaika called, "we'll lower you down."

Slowly Pearl began to let Cross' weight lift her end of the ladder, up to her chest, then her shoulders, over her head. Ikaika's grip became firmer as the ladder tried to slide off the chimney. Still looking downward, Cross watched as the ground drew closer. He lifted his knees as he was lowered towards the metal spikes planted into the top of the wall, but when the ladder was completely down and resting on the edge of the stone structure his was on the other side, intact. He let his hands slip off the sanded wooden rung and fell a few feet to the ground.

"It worked! I don't believe it! Come on dow-"

The rest of the sentence came out as a croak when an arm bound in hard muscle clamped around his throat. He had been looking down the whole time, and unable to see if any of the guards were watching his entry. He could only futilely lift his hands up to the crushing appendage, where he felt the striated muscles stand out. The yellow rock wall in front of him began to turn grey.

At the top of the ladder, Ikaika knew something was wrong right away.

"You'd better hold on to that tight," was all she said to Pearl before she vaulted onto the ladder and _ran_, her feet landing precisely on each rung like a cat, down the ladder.

As she neared the wall she saw a burly man choking Cross from behind, and without a moment's thought bounded into the air and delivered a straight kick to the face of the guard. Her heel opened a wide laceration on his forehead, and before the blood could begin to spill down his face he had stumbled back and released his grip. Not a moment later his was dead on the lawn, a fresh wound delivered precisely through his heart.

"Tha-haaanks," Cross heaved, "would've be-heen, de-hed if you-"

"Don't mention it," she interrupted coldly, flinging the blood from her black blade with a single sweep.

"Gee, that was brutal," Pearl added in from the top of the wall. She had slid down the ladder and her feet were each stopped on a metal spike. "You okay Cross?"

"No," he said, rubbing his neck, "let's get this over with."

* * *

Soren was soaked with boredom and sweat outside the walls of the mansion. His fellow sentry had kept to her reading with fastidious dedication, and now to quell his unease he attempted to peer over her shoulder at the cryptic manual. What he saw on the fresh white pages was not what he expected. There were no words to be seen, only intricate lithographs, pentacles and interwoven symbols forming complex glyphs on the page. A strange type of scrawling text could be located on the rims of circular patterns and filling what few empty spaces there were. His eyes had shifted out of focus without his knowing, and beyond the page he could see some meaning to the symbol, as if he was beginning to understand it.

Angela clamped the text shut. Soren felt a brief spark of anger flare at this strange focus being interrupted.

"What, precisely, was that you were reading? It seems oddly fascinating..."

"It's nothing," she spoke with startling audacity, "the man at the bookstore said only certain people can read it and understand. You'd probably just be wasting your time."

She seemed frustrated with having read the book as well. Soren was taken aback at the way she snapped at him.

"We'll see about that... what bookstore did you purchase it at? The one on Hasting Street right off the market, huh?"

"Yeah- I mean, no! Forget I said that, it... wasn't... I never said what store we went to! How did you-"

"I just guessed. Fancy little trick, that."

"It's not a trick at all!" She huffed. "You'll just be wasting your money on one anyway."

"Money spent on a book is never money wasted. You know that as much as I."

"Whatever."

Soren couldn't help but chuckle. She was beginning to act a little like Cross when she was irritated, which was less often then the volatile farmhand. Still, he could tell what that meant.

A commotion broke out near the gate. There was a yell followed by a loud ruckus that broke the thick air of the day. Moments later there was a metallic crash as the gate opened from the inside. Upon rounding the corner Soren could see the bodies of the guards on the ground, still as the day. Looming over them were the three who had ventured elsewhere to find a way inside. Whatever it had been, it had worked.

"Excellent work! Where did you find a way in?"

"Up," was Pearl's explanation.

"Let's get inside, they already know we're here." (Ikaika)

"Yeah, it's a mess in there. Guards all over the place, but no sign of Barra yet. The sooner we get out, the better," Cross motioned them forward with his arm.

Beyond the walls of the grand house was an interior more modest than they had expected. The entirely wooden floors were covered with non-matching rugs that looked expensive nonetheless, no more than a single painting was afforded to each wall and the furniture that wasn't worn out or ripped was disappointingly plain. It was a shame because whoever had built the structure had gone to great lengths to create several interior and exterior balconies, countless pillars, archways, expansive rooms, stairways and high ceilings were abound. The whole thing was much more maze-like than the last of its type they had encountered because few hallways were straight and there was more than one way in and out of every room. The five of them fought their way from the front to the back of the house and over several floors with no sign of either the old woman or the previously seen Bryce Barra, even in the fortified master bedroom.

"This isn't getting us anywhere!" Cross said as he tossed a defeated guard over a bedside table, "where the hell could they have gone?"

Angela suggested; "You don't think they got away through some escape passage like Henri Bouillard did, do you?"

"Even if they did, I'm not ready to give up yet."

"Hey guys, over here," Pearl stood beyond the curtains (which were silk, surprisingly) separating the bedroom from a balcony overlooking what was left of the cityscape before it gave way to ocean.

"It's a nice view, Pearl, but what's so important about it?"

She cupped the farmer's jaw and aimed his gaze to a courtyard at the back of the property. Among the wilted garden and untended, green ponds scattered among the interlocking brick were several men who did not appear to be among Barra's outlaw guards. They, too, were armed but appeared more gruff and threatening than the handful of guards he had felled to reach their position. From the second floor balcony he could see one of them wearing a black trench coat.

"Who do you think those guys are?" She asked.

The man in the trench coat paced forward, an agitated glean to his movements that did nothing to affect his confident stride. He spread his arms out, palms up, and turned around on the heels of his boots. He seemed to be challenging the emptiness of the abode.

"Where the _fuck_ is Bryce? Can anyone tell me that? Why the fuck would he tell me to come out to this shithole of a mansion and then not even be here? Does he think he's running this show now?"

There was no answer from his men. They were utterly afraid. With a hint of panic Cross suddenly recognized his black, neatly combed-back hair and the lazy moustache that drooped slightly over the sides of his mouth to terminate before it could meet with the grove of bristles on his chin.

"Maybe he forgot we were coming. You know, like he got distracted with something," one lackey with long dreadlocks spoke in a light, quavering tone.

"Koryn, nobody forgets when they've got a meeting with me; Ryle, Lord of the Underground, _remember_? Maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' idiot, you _would_ have remembered."

"Oh no, it's him. I think we should leave now, this might be getting over our heads." Cross had not dropped his voice at all, and the pirate below ruffled his eyebrows before looking up at the balcony.

"Hey! Hey, who are you? You know what's going on here?" He shouted up at them.

"Uh, no. We were just on our way out."

"Oh, this is bad news, boss. This place is being raided, we gotta get outta here before the knights show." A lanky henchman with pasty skin whined in the same voice as the first one, only higher in pitch.

"Fuck that, Trevid, look! It's a bunch of kids! Think you can't handle that?" Their leader pointed up to the perch on the second floor.

"Get 'em, boys!"

* * *

**And there you have it. I cut back on the cursing in previous chapters because most of it will be condensed into a single character. He's one evil, bad person. But is he on the right side? Only time will tell. Took a bit of a gamble in the last chapter with humans maybe using magic and all, but this is all about trying new directions with the world set forth in_ Legend. _Another playthrough of that game showed me that not a whole lot was set in stone. Whatever, I'm having fun. Thanks for reading.**


	12. Tucked Away

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter 12: Tucked Away**

The courtyard below them was quickly evacuated and footsteps could already be heard ascending the stairs branching off of the hall outside.

"Just had to open your mouth, didn't you?" Ikaika turned on Cross.

"I was trying to warn you guys! I thought that the Captain said if we were going to fight them, it wasn't going to turn out very well, so I..."

"Well if you had shut up about it, we wouldn't _be_ fighting them now, would we?"

"You two can save that for later," Soren tried to calm them as numerous bootfalls reached the entrance to the bedroom. Cross moved to face the door. He didn't have anything to save for later, he had said his piece.

"It will be good practice for you anyway, warrior," Soren addressed the fuming woman.

"Hm, I didn't want to have to sharpen these today," she replied offhand as she withdrew the second blade at her waist.

For the second time that day the door to the master bedroom was kicked in; this time the knob smashed into the wall and stayed there. Bodies began pouring into the room like ants crawling out of a dirt hill. Even as they engaged the point men of this assault, more blocked up the entrance so that the rest outside couldn't even get in. The room was fairly large, and from where he and Angela were fighting Cross could see Soren backed up against the closet by four other men. Pearl was taking conservative swings with her sword near the balcony, and he could hear Ikaika behind him dispatching enemies with the ease he had already come to expect from her. He disregarded the rest and focused on the unshaven man leering before him. Cross had never guessed at what a pirate was supposed to look like, but the rough appearance was a stark contrast to the uniforms worn by Bryce Barra's crew of bodyguards. These men would fit in as peasants on the street, since nothing stood out about their clothing at all aside from how well-worn it all was. The ruffians appeared more unhinged and battle-hardened although equally loyal to their respective leader. Each one seemed to have the same cutlass-and-dagger combination and dull stink of alcohol saturating them.

Cross easily dodged a swipe from the scruffy outlaw's cutlass, then struck his face with the distal end of his spear. With that light distraction, the farmer ran him through and pushed forward until the protruding blade of the weapon had skewered another pirate. But the thing was harder to extract from two bodies at once, and as he struggled another foe caught him on the shoulder with a dagger. He rounded on his attacker only to find Ikaika knocking the bandit to the floor, his knifing arm already removed at the elbow. Pearl had taken to simply hurling her assailants off of the balcony as they yelped in surprise. Angela crushed something small in her hand and threw it underhand between the legs of the gang waiting in the door frame. Seconds later electricity exploded in jaunty cyan branches that reached into the bodies of any men unfortunate enough to be within range. Some fell to the floor in convulsions, others turned tail and ran.

Now Cross rushed to the aid of Soren, who still had several men to contend with at once. One had already successfully leaped onto the big man's back to attempt to slow him down. As Cross engaged the other two, Soren reached behind him with one gigantic hand and tossed his extra baggage into the closet. He then vaulted the bed and flipped the wooden frame and mattress onto its side before rushing forward, shielding himself with the furniture. The three remaining pirates were soon crushed against the wall. A curved blade sheared the fabric, nearly penetrating Soren's abdomen. Cross answered with his spear. The long weapon pierced the bed, and soon the fabric was soaked with a spreading oval of crimson. The struggling on the other side ceased.

"Was that so hard?" Cross confronted Ikaika after taking a deep breath.

"Not hard, but unnecessary. And your looking a little worse for wear," she nodded to the bleeding laceration on his arm.

He tried to make an indifferent sound despite the fact that it did hurt.

"You've got to learn that simply fighting your way through everything is the best way to get yourself killed. Especially when we're this outnumbered. Your enemies don't care how much you want to win, or why," she wiped off one blade on a nearby silk curtain, "they just want to see you die, and be done with it."

"Maybe you're right-"

"I _know_ I'm right."

"-but like I said, that was an accident. I know I haven't exactly gotten this far by being careful..."

"You should try it sometime," she said coldly, and walked out through the door.

Cross looked at the floor. What she said had made him realize that while he didn't care if he was reckless or not, he had put his friends in danger. They were there to help him, and in a way he had disregarded their safety. He told himself it wouldn't happen again.

Pearl came over and clapped him on the back. As usual, she could see he was discouraged.

"Don't let her get to ya! She seems to be just a little negative, you know?"

"Besides, she doesn't know what you've been through- what we've been through," Angela stared after Ikaika angrily.

"You don't know that," Cross muttered before following Ikaika through the door.

"Talk about bringin' the mood down," Pearl scratched her head, "aren't we supposed to be celebrating?"

"We still have to find the owner of the home. Talking to a bodyguard and ransacking the place is not enough," Soren started for the door, "come on, we will check downstairs again."

* * *

As Cross reached the bottom of the stairs he still could not see Ikaika. He had intended to give her a piece of his mind, but the vacant halls around him made him think she must have left. Sick of the amateurs she was working with, she had simply walked back out the front door. As much as her words had spurned him, Cross was even more disappointed to see her gone. She was a valuable ally, and not only that but he had felt that draw, that inexplicable pull...

"Hey. Cross."

He looked around and saw nothing.

"Over here."

In one of the vast rooms comprising the center of the mansion, a row of several pillars stood, broken only by a figure leaning out from between two of the stone structures. A bronze, naked arm extended and waved him over. She had not left after all. Piecing together a sentence that was part apology, part argument in his head, he paced towards the tall woman. As he opened his mouth to speak his mind, his eyes were drawn to a sort of fold in the wall, where two sections overlapped at incorrect angles, creating an alcove of sorts. Standing slightly ajar was a door built directly into the wall that would have been invisible had it been shut correctly. The fold itself was hidden by the pillars acting as sentries to this side of the room.

"Looks like our pirate friends forgot to hide their secret entrance. They must use this to smuggle in whatever Barra's got them running for him."

"How did you ever find this?" Cross inspected the door cautiously.

"I saw the one with dreadlocks come through here. Looked like he was in a rush. He was in this room and suddenly he was gone. A quick search led me to this, and I wouldn't have found it if he had closed it properly."

By now the other three had seen them, and walked over to see what the fuss was about.

"These secret passages are popular," Soren speculated.

"They must be in this season, along with mansions and armed guards," Cross joked.

"You can't take anything seriously, can you?" Ikaika sighed.

"On the other hand, I think you need to lighten up a bit," Pearl actually was serious for once.

Ikaika chuckled a bit. "'Lighten up,' what does that even mean?"

"Well, I guess laughing's a good start," Pearl seemed to be genuinely perplexed by the etymology of the term 'lighten up'.

"I'd love to chat about it, but this door's not going to open itself."

Cross had already inched the panel of wall open. It had proven to be heavy despite only looking like a thin piece of painted wood. Beyond the threshold was a steep brick staircase that veered sharply to the right. It was not guarded or trapped.

"Does it go to the basement? Or maybe somewhere else," Cross wondered.

"Only one way to find out," Ikaika led the way into the dark.

The veer to the right turned out to be a spiral that wound deep into the ground. The walls became dank and wet the further they went. There was no torchlight to guide them, but knowing they were on a singular staircase allowed them to step onward and downward with little hesitation. When at last they reached level ground again, they were in a man-made cavern. The walls were interlocking but uneven chunks of stone that fit perfectly together, requiring no mortar. Torches fastened to the wall lit the entire space, casting orange light on yellow walls.

"When they said this guy was lord of the underground, they really weren't kidding," Pearl gazed down the tunnel, feeling at home for once.

"I don't like it," Cross complained with a shiver.

"No repeats of last time, okay?" Angela teased him.

"I'll try to manage," he groaned unpleasantly.

They moved through the tunnel, which must have been ten feet at it's highest, until they came to an intersection of multiple corridors like it. Then the smell hit them.

"Augh-, what _is_ that?" Angela nearly shrieked, covering her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her robe.

"That is really bad, a little warning next time, huh, big guy?" Pearl held her nostrils with a thumb and forefinger as she waved Soren away. At first he seemed confused, then angry at her accusation.

"Can't say I approve," even Ikaika had a clear look of disgust on her face.

"This is no secret passage, these vagabonds are simply running their operation through the sewers. Not a bad idea, really. I cannot think of anyone who would check down here for such a thing," said Soren.

"Except for us, right?" Cross choked, "Let's pick a direction and take it, I need to get out of here."

"Why don't you calm down, take some deep breaths?"

"That's impossible down here!"

"Quiet, I hear voices," Ikaika stared hard at nowhere as she listened. The others went silent and took on similar expressions. Indeed, there were voices drifting down the tunnels from somewhere. It could not be told what was being said, but they were definitely arguing.

"It's coming from down there," she pointed to a tunnel branching off to the right.

Something was casting long shadows on the flickering walls, in time with the swell and rise of the voices arguing at the source. The ragtag team of would-be soldiers drew their weapons and proceeded carefully toward the figures, unsure of what they may find. Their anticipation came to a climax when they saw one figure was Bryce Barra, tall and built, speaking with one of the pirates in Ryle's service.

"...The boss ain't happy with how this is working out, Bryce. All the shipments were coming in without a hitch until the last one. What the hell have you got us moving, anyway? One of the things broke out and it's _still_ gone, and we had a leak in another that poisoned some of our crew! And to top it all off, the knighthood is onto us now. They've already raided the mansion, I mean, they're in there right now!"

"Why am I talking to you? Where's Ryle?"

"He's in the storeroom back there, but I'm just relaying the message, Bryce. Saving my boss the trouble of having to say it again when he _does_ talk to you."

"That's not important, the important thing is that the subst- I mean the shipment made it through alright, correct? The latest one is still at the shipyard where I asked?"

"Yes it is."

"And you can still transport the next few shipments across Illisa Bay, can't you? No other ships can make it through that sea without falling into the hands of those Neo-Dragonians-"

"But you're not _getting_ anymore shipments, Bryce. The boss is through with this."

Bryce turned away and massaged his forehead impatiently.

"Ryle, Ryle, you are a man of such little faith."

"The boss doesn't care about faith, Bryce, he cares about getting his money without being-"

The lackey was cut short when Bryce abruptly turned and jabbed him in the stomach. He doubled over while his heels left the ground. His mouth hung open in an awkward manner, as though he were about to dry-heave. A stream of blood then leaked from his open lips. Bryce had stabbed him.

"I may not look like it, but I'm a man of faith," Bryce Barra spoke in a pleasant and conversational tone that was disturbing to those out of sight, "it's such an important thing when you seem to have nothing else. We live in such secular times. People need to be reminded of where they come from, where their faith belongs. Your boss is helping me with that- or should I say us? Yes. He's helped _all_ of us. But now I'm done with him, a lot like I'm done with the rest of you."

He drew the blade quickly from the gut of the pirate he had murdered. The man's fingers went to cover the wound uselessly as he fell among the sewage to die. Even these criminals weren't below double-crossing each other. But Barra was alone now, without his guards to help or pirates to intervene. Cross saw the opportunity to strike.

"You want to talk about your faith?"

As he stepped into the light, Cross saw Bryce slowly turn his head to look at him. He showed no surprise, or anger. Cross only saw hunger in his eyes, a hunger that made him freeze and stare back. Something horrible was wrong with this man.

"Then I'm all ears," he spoke nonetheless.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm here to learn all I can from you about the church," Cross ignored his question, "We want to know everything, what you've smuggled in, what's the purpose behind the shipyard, why you're _killing_ thousands of people... all of it."

Bryce seemed amused at this, but his anger soon showed as Cross' allies appeared behind him, ready for a fight. His stance didn't change, but his eyes seemed to linger on Soren.

"I see you finally found your way in, merchant. But that's not what you are, is it? Of course not. So few of us are what we say we are."

Cross was put off by this. Bryce was no quavering coward like Henri Bouillard, but some sort of empty shell. An empty shell that was hungry. His tone of voice and position hadn't changed since he stabbed the pirate, who he now pointed to with his knife.

"_You're_ the knighthood he was talking about? HA! But half of you are only children! These criminals are so unreliable, fearing the lot of you."

"You want to try us? Besides, you're no less of a criminal than the rest of them," Cross challenged.

"You want to hear about my faith, young man? I could go on and on. But I will tell you that faith is capable of great things. What your eyes can't see, but what you can feel in your flesh, working behind your dreams like some gilded puppeteer. This is what I hold in my heart, in my hands, because I have faith. It may be the only thing that can save you."

He raised his knife to his own arm and slit a long gash without a moment's hesitation. He then shook his arm so the red drops of plasma fell into a nearby pile of garbage. He then muttered a few words they could not hear as his eyes rolled back to show only the whites. His left hand slowly clenched into a fist, causing the blood to flow faster from the wound on his wrist before it could clot.

When the last of his words had been spoken and he was looking at them once again, something started to move among the refuse where his blood had landed. At first, tiny individual pieces of trash slid or rolled along the floor of their own accord. Compost lumped together and stacked upon itself while scraps of metal climbed it's surface, embedding themselves in the waste. Rotten food wrapped itself around the jagged iron and clung there as the mass grew. It was all coming to life.

"What the hell is this?" Cross heard Soren swear for the first time in a while.

"How's he doing this? He's human isn't he? Humans shouldn't be able to use magic!" Pearl sounded nervous.

"Shouldn't?" Bryce said the word like it was in another language. "Such a stupid word. You say it as though you are in control, you command something to do what it 'should' or 'should not'. But you command nothing!"

What had been no more than garbage seconds before reached a fetid appendage out to hoist itself up. It grabbed the wall and seemed to finally find it's shape. Another arm separated from the mass, it's deformed 'hand' lined with pieces of broken glass that slid and scraped across each other constantly. It attempted to step forward but realized it only had one leg, so it used it's own 'face' to roll forward. Already a similar creature could be seen crawling from another heap, dragging itself across a stream of sewage and incorporating the errant human waste into itself. It ignored Bryce and shambled toward the team of five. He was in complete control of these things.

"I'm not impressed!" Cross tried to sound aggressive despite his unease at the revolting sight, "it looks like your precious faith has given you nothing but control over a pile of trash!"

"Only words, foolish boy. They mean so little."

Bryce had taken the torches from either side of the tunnel wall and as he spoke cast them into the wet stream of grey water and urine, leaving them in almost total darkness.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some loose ends that need to be tied up."

He turned and walked silently down the tunnel before disappearing into a passage on the right. The two figures continued to slink towards the warriors in the near dark. The five were hesitant.

"How do we fight these things? I mean do they even bleed?"

"Everything has a weak spot," Cross spoke as he remembered a similar horror he had faced.

"I say we quit waiting around!"

Pearl stepped forward with her massive weapon ready behind her. As she placed her second hand on the skyward-pointing handle she widened her stance for better balance. A single powerful downward stroke was all it took to cleave the creature wallowing in the stream in two. Debris and chunks of filth flew into the air, some of it landing on the walls and sticking there. The monster was not perturbed. Both halves slopped about and reached out eldritch limbs to seize her. They were immediately severed by the lightning-quick Ikaika's blade. She had used the newer, better looking sword, which was now tarnished.

"I say we stop fighting these things before we get ahead of ourselves. They're practically made out of dung," she muttered with excessive disgust.

"She's right, I don't want to get covered with this stuff," Cross seemed to be reminded of the wound on his shoulder, as he shielded it absentmindedly with his hand.

"They are slow, so we should be able to get past. Just be careful."

As the first garbage-monster reached Soren, he swung his axe sideways at its 'head', effectively smashing it against the wall with similar results from Pearl's attack; a sloppy mess that hardly damaged the creature. He had slowed it down, though.

"Go!"

As his companions rushed by on the dry shore of the tunnel, he found himself unable to remove his weapon from the wall. He planted one boot on the stone and yanked with all his might. The head of his axe finally came free, trailing gooey strands from the flattened face of his foe. He dodged a swipe from the hand covered in sharp glass and hopped over the arm of the other monster that reached for him as he went to follow his friends. A glance over his shoulder showed one of the strange things hunched over the corpse of the pirate, lurching grotesquely and moving beneath the surface as it drained the body of all its blood. He shut that horrific image out of his head as he ducked into the passage through which Bryce had gone. This offshoot of the aqueducts was different in that it had not been lined carefully with building materials but was hewn from the rock beneath Fletz itself. He found his allies waiting here for him in single file, their intent eyes filled with relief at his arrival.

"Keep going, I want to create as much distance between those things and us as possible."

There was no argument to that. As they followed the winding hidden passage, light began to catch the edges of the moist stone once again, giving them something to follow. Cross' breath caught as they reached the exit to the tunnel, weary of what they had already faced and what was to come next. More voices emanated from their destination, a huge room built as part of the sewers, with the same sickly yellow stone on the walls. The ceiling was much taller than the previous tunnels, and was nearly stacked to the top in places with both small and enormous wooden crates. The containers were so numerous that maze-like corridors wove between them, and it was from somewhere in there that the voices came. Cross was sure that they had found whatever it was that was being sent to that shipyard, the deadly cargo that the pirate had spoken of. There was no indication that whatever was inside had been alive like he said, though.

An angry but immediately familiar voice rose up from somewhere amongst the crates.

"Why does this asshole think it's funny or something to keep me waiting like this? I'm not excited by the idea of playing cat and mouse with whoever's got my paycheck. Do I look like that kind of idiot to you?"

"No, boss. You don't look like any kind of idiot."

It was certainly Ryle. From the sound of it, Bryce hadn't found him yet either. That meant he was somewhere in this room, hiding among the wooden boxes like an overgrown rat in the hold of a massive ship. Cross felt a tap at his shoulder and his mouth was covered before he could say "what?" Soren pointed toward an aisle through the crates and wordlessly told Cross and Angela to follow him through. Ikaika and Pearl took a different route, deciding to fan out to prevent their foe from possibly flanking them. The branching halls between the rows were no less claustrophobic than the rest of this stinking sewer to Cross, but the high roof helped to keep the sweat off his neck. Eventually Soren rounded a corner before stopping and quickly turning back. When Cross spread his hands and mouthed "why?" the hefty former lumberjack pointed a finger upward and boosted Cross on top of one of the shorter crates. The farmer hoisted himself on top of a few other boxes before finally peeking his head over the one on top of the stack. Below was an open patch clear of crates for the most part, with the entire ensemble of pirates gathered around, sitting on boxes or against walls, guarding the entrance to an arch big enough to fit even the largest of the wooden crates through. The ground within the archway sloped drastically upward, possibly towards somewhere near the docks of Fletz.

"I mean, hell, it's not like my reputation precedes me or anything. Infamous as I am, my services are invaluable. Who else could have gotten all that shit he wanted across the bay without getting sunk by those Dragonian dirtbags? Tough one to answer, isn't i-"

He stopped mid-sentence and stood perfectly still.

"Boss, what's-"

"Shut the fuck up!" He hissed. The pirate leader's back was to Cross, but he could see the man trying to communicate silently with his subordinate. The lesser bandit leaned to look over his boss' shoulder but Ryle whispered something along the lines of "Don't fucking _look_!"

He then strolled over to a crate that reached his waist in height. With blinding, sudden speed he punched through the wooden planking on top and swiftly withdrew a flintlock rifle. He turned and seemed to blindly fire somewhere to Cross' right. It was anything but a blind fire. He heard a cry of pain from that direction and looked to see Ikaika clutching a wound from a bullet that had passed straight through her thigh. She deftly rolled and fell behind more cover.

"Nice shot boss!"

"I love it when he does that!"

"I've told you guys too many times," he flicked at one of his ears with a digit protruding from a fingerless black glove, "nothing gets past these old skin flaps."

He threw the rifle aside without reloading and instead drew a fresh one from the same crate.

"And anybody else out there, show yourself now. I only want to talk. No shooting, I promise."

Some of the pirates behind him chuckled and they continued to jostle each other about their captain's marksmanship. Suddenly filled with rage at this, Cross fought the lead ball of fear in his stomach and stood up from his hiding place. Almost instantly a bullet whizzed past his head, through the hair over his shoulder and split apart a plank of wood behind him. He ducked immediately once again.

"I thought you said you wouldn't shoot!" He screamed.

"If I had wanted to, I could have killed you right there, kid. I only miss on purpose. Come back out and let's have a talk."

Reluctantly Cross peered over the top of the crate again. Ryle was standing with one hand on his hip, the other holding the gun with the barrel leaning on his shoulder. He had not retrieved another rifle from the box. His emerald eyes stared right into Cross' own and one side of his mouth was curled into a vicious smirk.

"So it's you again. You were the one up on that balcony, weren't you? You got a lot between the legs comin' after my crew and I like this. And you're just a kid, too! Haha, I _love_ it! But you and your friends ought to get outta here, you've got no idea what you're dealing with."

"I know that you're Ryle Salmillia, the most feared pirate in all of Fletz." He called back, unsure of where to take the conversation.

The man in black laughed.

"Why thank you, but it's the most feared pirate in all of _Endiness_, for when you tell the story to your buddies in daycare. But, it's not like we're doing anything _illegal_ or nothing."

He turned to his crew who laughed uproariously at his sarcastic remark. Cross was tired of being made fun of.

"You can commit all the crimes you want, I don't care. We're here for Bryce Barra, you're boss."

"He's not my fuckin' boss! You get this straight, I answer to no one! I cut a deal where I can to make some money, that's it! Besides, I don't work with that shithead anymore, so if you want to find him, go look by yourself. Going through me will get you killed, kid."

Then Cross remembered what Bryce had said in the tunnel.

"Bryce already killed your messenger, Ryle. He says if you're not working for him anymore, then your just a loose end that needs to be burned off. He said that it didn't matter if some of your cargo leaked and poisoned your men or broke loose and ran off. What is all this stuff you're taking to the shipyard for him?"

"Man, is this kid stupid or what? I didn't work _for_ him, I worked _with_ him! And I only brought a couple things to the shipyard for Bryce. Think! Why would I transport something in such large quantities across Illisa Bay only to have him put it on a ship and send it back out there again? He took the rest of the cargo somewhere else, I don't know where. That shit doesn't matter to me. But the fact that you know all this tells me you know more than I thought, and so you're telling the truth. I'll deal with Bryce, kid. Don't you worry. When he comes to tie up this loose end he'll get more than he bargained for."

Now that Cross thought about it, it didn't make much sense.

"Then what's all this stuff?"

"My own _personal_ store room. But I've already told you too much," he threw the second rifle away and went to get another, "when I turn around, I want you gone or next time I won't miss."

This time, however, he stopped with both hands on the edge of the lid, leaning forward to listen once again. Cross didn't know how his hearing could be so advanced, but he was ready to leave this place for good. Then he heard it too. A low rumbling, like distant thunder, from somewhere within the catacombs. The sound travelled through the earth all around them, making it impossible to tell where it came from. But as it grew louder -and closer- something blocked the light pouring in through the massive archway on the far wall of the chamber. Something huge.

What happened was so fast and bizarre that Cross had barely any time to comprehend it. A flood of grayish-brown sludge poured down the angled chute leading up from the chamber, taking up the entire width and height of the arch. Barely discernible shapes could be seen stuck in the liquid, like bones or large chunks of scrap metal. Ryle and a few of his men barely escaped the surge, but the rest of the crew were consumed by the viscous fluid, which brought a horrendous stench with it. Some were crushed against crates as the heavy mass crashed into the room, others could be seen drowning in it as their limbs were pulled under by voracious pseudopods. One unfortunate man was impaled on a sharp pole, which was soon joined by other rusty steel filaments, forming three fingers and a thumb that crunched his body in its grip. A head roiled out from the filth, appearing to be the skull of some giant bull as wide as the arch through which it had passed and held in place by the sentient sewage. It's jaw opened, revealing teeth formed from broken swords, glass bottles or other sharp objects, and a deep bellow issued from somewhere within. It then set to wiping out the remainder of Ryle's crew, sweeping them away with its arms or snapping them up in its jaws to be ground into pulp. It left a trail of the sticky, oddly-coloured sludge wherever it went.

"What the fuck is this thing?" Ryle stared in horror from atop a stack of crates.

"It's Bryce!" Cross called to him, "he's controlling it!"

"Bryce, you son of a bitch," the always-angry pirate got even angrier, "I'll make you pay for this!"

He looked to Koryn and Trevid, his only surviving men, who were cowering on a crate below him.

"Koryn, Trevid, get the fuck outta here!"

"What about you, boss?"

"I'm going to take care of our friend here, but someone has to get back to the ship! I'm counting on you two idiots, so don't fuck this up!"

The two scrambled for the nearest exit as their captain set about finding another weapon. The enormous creature seemed to notice Cross despite not having eyes, and extended an arm which grew impossibly long to seize him. The young farmer only just managed to jump to another stack before everything where he had been standing was destroyed by the beast. It began to crawl its way further into the room with its arms, its body continuing to flow in through the entrance and beginning to find its way between the crates where Pearl, Soren and Angela were hiding. As Cross tried to pull himself onto a tall wooden keg where he had landed, the head of the monster opened its jaws and reached out on a long neck to snatch him up. Thinking quick, Angela threw a Pellet up at the roof, causing large chunks of the stone to cave in on the creatures' skull. The stones weren't finished yet, as they hovered around the monster firing tiny pieces of themselves at incredible speed through the stained bone. They then simultaneously threw themselves at the head, and the force of the blow knocked one of its horns off with an astounding crack.

On the ground, Soren and Pearl were barely holding off the muck as it surged toward them, taking large swings with their weapons to remove any appendages attempting to seize them. They were quickly becoming too tired to continue. Clueless as to how to damage this monstrosity, Cross hurled his spear like a javelin, but it landed uselessly, sticking straight up out of the slime. An arm swung at him again, failing to land but knocking over the keg he had been standing on. As he tried to stand up the mouth of its head, now riddled with holes from the pellet attack, opened wide and went to swallow him once again. He managed to clamber over the wooden barrel, which became lodged sideways in the creatures' jaws. Another arm made a grab at him, and with nowhere else to go he ran over the barrel and up the monstrous skull. The thing raised its head and flung him off. Tumbling through the air, hoping to fall somewhere safe, terror like no other gripped him when he landed knee deep in the grey-brown goo and started to sink.

"_Cross_!" Angela shrieked as she went to retrieve another attack item. As she was about to toss a Spinning Gale into the air the slime shoved a crate into her, knocking her to the ground.

All hope seemed lost as the large keg cracked and began to give between the jaws of the beast. Black powder, not beer, slowly flowed out from one crack. Cross' struggles caused him to sink faster, and soon tendrils reached up and began to pull him in by the arms. He was almost up to his neck, and could feel harder objects below the surface scraping past his skin and squeezing the air out of his chest. Then Ryle emerged from behind a crate, another rifle locked firmly in his grip and held tight to his shoulder. He was already taking careful aim and fired less than a second after he had appeared. The bullet hit its target dead on; a scrap of flint protruding from the monsters' body. Sparks flew from the impact, and several landed in the cascade of black powder leaking from the keg. The gunpowder soon ignited and the flame climbed upwards into the barrel, causing it to explode with white-hot fire. The bone head flew apart into thousands of pieces and most of the upper part of the creature's body disintegrated in the incinerating blast. That alone would not have been enough, but the explosion also ignited a stream of methane gas trapped inside the sludge from the decomposing sewage. Orange explosions were barely visible through the thick liquid, but as they moved throughout its mass soon gained enough pressure to erupt. The entire creature flew apart with a deafening bang as the explosion destroyed it. Horrible sludge now coated nearly everything in the room.

A pile of the decomposing matter began to stir, wriggling in the lake of filth. Soren and Pearl moved in to finish off whatever it was even as they wiped the stuff from their eyes. It bubbled up and a human figure emerged, holding one of its arms. It was Cross.

"Are you alright?" Soren asked.

He simply stood quiet, then leaned forward and vomited into the already disgusting mess around him.

"I'm better now," he choked.

Angela ran to him, a Body Purifier already open in one hand.

"Drink this before your arm gets infected, if it already isn't. Then take this," she hurriedly reached for a healing potion in her bag after he took the medicine from her.

"Me too," Pearl said weakly, as she had also been injured in the desperate struggle. Both of her hands were bloody and there was a ragged scratch down her back.

"Are you injured too, Soren?" Angela held out a healing item to him.

"Just get me a bath and some clean clothes and I will be fine. Where is Ikaika? And Ryle, where is he?"

"Up here."

She hadn't gotten very far after rolling off the crate, and the entire leg of her harem pants was soaked with blood. Refusing any treatment, she only asked to be taken out of the sewer and away from the room which now had brown walls instead of yellow, a very unwelcome change from an already ugly place. When Soren offered to carry her she also refused, instead opting to walk on her good leg while receiving support from both Angela and Pearl. They couldn't find Ryle anywhere. Soren lead the weary group through the first passage they could find, and after a walk that felt very long they reached a dead end with a dust-covered ladder leading up to a wooden trap door. The rungs, however, were devoid of such dust. Ignoring this, they climbed one by one to the top, with Soren going first so as to push the heavy door out of the way. He found himself in a room so long it could have been a hallway, filled with dust and cobwebs. Rays of white light slipped between what he guessed were floorboards overhead, catching floating particles of dust that moved between the shadows. He then reached down with one hand to help Ikaika, who had slowly made her way up the ladder. Soon all five of them were making their way down the narrow room, made so by the broken skeletons of opened crates lining either side. Empty cages and barrels had already gathered dust in other corners. They ignored them all, driving forward with the purpose of going back to the castle to rest.

Angela noticed that Cross had fallen behind when they were about to ascend the stairs at the end of the basement room. He stood motionless in the middle of the wooden boards, gazing blankly at something to his right. She approached him and tried to find where his eyes were locked. When she saw what it was her heart skipped a beat and she had to hold back a gasp.

Slumped between two discarded containers was a body covered in as much dust as everything else in this misplaced tomb. The head was hanging stiffly and covered in pure white hair that had thinned out over time. A knitted shawl was draped over the skeletal shoulders, hiding the dried out skin still clinging uselessly to the bones. Agnes Roderick had still been wearing a blue house dress when she had died. The sight was pathetic beyond description.

"They killed her," Cross said in a voice as dead as she, "she trusted them to protect her, and once they were in they took everything she had... even her life. No children, no other family, old and alone-"

"Stop talking like that. You're scaring me."

She could see the gloss in his eyes and lifted her hand to far side of his dirty face to turn him away. He didn't flinch like she had thought he may, but he felt cold. Cold as the dead.

"Why are they doing this, Angela? Why does this have to happen?"

"We're going to find out, Cross. We can try to make things right."

"I don't know anymore, Angela. I'm so tired..."

Pearl had noticed them talking and came back to see what they were looking at.

"Hey guys, what- oh no," her voice dropped as she saw what they were so low about. "Let's get out of here, you don't want to look at this."

"You're right... I don't," Cross finally seemed resigned to it and slouched as he plodded toward the stairs.

Ikaika was seated on a step, holding her injured leg.

"Is everything alright?" She looked up at Cross, but he only continued up the stairs quietly.

As he reached the plateau the voices of his friends below him sounded as though they were underwater. Angela was explaining something and he thought he heard Soren say "Then it is as I feared..." He could picture the bearded man folding his arms and looking at the ground as he said it. After passing through a doorway Cross found himself in a tall open room, broken or intact pews on either side of an aisle like wide brown gravestones. Stained glass windows depicting an epic battle between dragoons and winglies took up the walls all the way to the ceiling. Some had been smashed in, others as pristine as though they were brand new. Everything else inside was either destroyed or missing. A few of the rafters had collapsed, one end resting on the ground while the other led up to a platform where the brass bell could be rung. The bell itself had fallen onto the platform, part of it was visible through a hole in the bottom of the wooden surface through which a length of rope dangled. This was the inside of the abandoned church down the street from what was formerly the mansion of Agnes Roderick.

He went to open the front doors but found they wouldn't budge. He remembered that they had been boarded shut from the outside. When he turned around standing, waiting for him at the end of the aisle was Bryce Barra.

And he was ready for a fight.

* * *

**I'm back again, and I think this has been the longest time spent between updates. I hate to keep people waiting to read more of this story if they like it, but sometimes I just get stuck and stop for a while. I'm such a slow writer. I go back and make a lot of edits too. Not a bad thing, I guess, but I still wish I could be like some of these writers who churn out 5,000+ words a day. Anyway, if you're reading this, I hope you had a great summer. Mine was kinda shit but, hey they can't all be winners. Working door to door sales was... an experience. A horrible one. Quitting felt great, especially the phone call the next day asking me to come back. Saying no never quite felt so good. Now I'm in a kitchen at a local sports grill, glad to say I think I'll be there for a while. The hours are very manageable and the work is easy. Plus I'm not inhaling pure tar. Always a plus.**

**But enough about me. This chapter was a tough one to write, but hopefully the end result is satisfactory. I hope plenty of action pleases you. The plot is moving along a little slowly, since we're still in the stage where a lot of questions are being brought up. I have to tweak a lot of what goes on now so that what happens later on still makes sense and links everything together. Like I believe I've said before, I have a lot of this story planned ahead but I want to be sure I don't write myself into a corner. Be a dear and please let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.**


	13. Break You

**Legacy of Dragoon**

**Chapter 13: Break You**

The edge of the knife caught an errant ray of sunlight piercing the roof of the church, making the blade for a moment look as though it were entirely formed of light. Bryce paced the back of the chancel, turning the small weapon in his hand as his eyes never left Cross' face.

"Where does a nuisance like yourself come from?" He probed with a calm barely masking his anger.

"From the place you and your kind burned off the face of this earth. How could you enable the slaughter of so many people, or murder a helpless old woman? Doesn't life mean anything to you?"

"Not in this life, no. We all move on to a higher purpose."

"So that's it? You've bought and killed your way into heaven?"

"You have to put it in such simple words to try and understand it - I would only expect such a lack of intelligence to allow you to find your way into my presence. It was a foolish mistake, boy, whether you've deluded yourself into thinking I'm responsible for the death of your family or not."

As the tall and repugnant man spoke he tread in an apparently aimless manner toward the door through which Cross had come. The next person to enter through the portal was Angela, directly into the hands of Bryce. He quickly seized her by a fistful of light brown hair, making her scream in surprise and pain as he yanked her head harshly back. As Cross started to dash forward the gleaming edge of the knife was pressed to her delicate throat.

"Ah, ah, aaah," he warned in a gentle voice as he pressed lightly, drawing a small stream of crimson from the soft flesh.

Cross could only make a weak sound in his throat at the sight of that. His own neck felt constricted, and the pain on her face tore ragged holes in his heart. At this point Soren and Pearl helped Ikaika through the door, only to be equally startled at the sight which greeted them.

"Oh good, looks like everyone's here. Now if you'll all step aside while I leave with-"

Just then a blunted crack resounded throughout the church. From behind the vestibule, rotten wood was kicked, elbowed in and a figure clad in black emerged from the newly-broken hole in the wall. Within moments he had Bryce within his sights.

"Thought I'd find you here, you sack of dog shit."

"Ryle! What a pleasant surprise. This changes things," he glanced to either side, as he was surrounded.

"Don't fuckin' make small talk with me. Why the sudden change of plans?" the deep voice of the dark-haired man filled the chapel, "one day we were doing business as usual, and the next you pull _this_ shit. You killed most of my men!"

"Last time I checked human life wasn't high on your priorities list."

"It's not that! I'm going to have to go out and waste my time finding a new crew, and killing you is going to make me feel a lot better about that."

"Since you care so much all of a sudden, I bet you won't shoot if you don't want the girl to die," Bryce said coolly.

"I don't give a fuck about her!" Ryle yelled as he closed one eye to aim down the barrel.

But a bead of sweat trickled down his face and dripped off his chin. He had hesitated.

A laconic chirp emanated from the dark corners of the roof. The iron clinking of carapace as something clung to the top was heard as well, it seemed surreal how high up the deepest spaces where nothing could be seen were. There was a sudden rush of air, and something landed on the floorboards. It was big enough to crush four benches in the pew before crawling out of the debris on six legs. The top of its naturally-grown armor was a sanguine ruby consumed from the sides by black dots of varying size and shape. They looked more like the markings on the skin of an amphibian than an insect, making them immediately noticeable as misplaced and unnatural. Each leg ended in a brutal tarsus that scratched deep lacerations into the surfaces it tread upon, allowing a powerful grip from any angle. Cross and the others stepped back warily, and Ryle's gun lowered to the floor as he gawked in shock.

"Ah, look Ryle! It's our escapee. Good thing your incompetent men let it out of that cluttered box. It seems much happier living in this old church," with his knife-wielding hand Bryce held Angela firmly to his hefty body and held out his free arm. She squirmed and groaned with displeasure as the creature ambled toward them, sliding its wire-thick antennae over Bryce's arm. The mechanical movement produced a wet, coarse sound as the insect tasted for a recognizable scent.

"Though unfortunately it doesn't get much food in here..."

After a moment it raised its head and chirped its approval, shifting powerful mandibles to create the sound. It somehow recognized Bryce and would not attack.

"Wonderful!" he cried in adulation as he threw Angela aside.

She hit the ground and immediately reached for the wound on her neck. It was superficial, expertly placed and gouged to minimize damage, but continued to bleed onto her shirt. She reached for a healing potion and found none; Bryce held her traveling pack out in one hand. He had somehow taken it off in the same motion with which he had cast her down.

"You won't be needing anything in here," he shook the leather pack, causing the contents within to clink together.

"What the hell have you become, Bryce? First you throw a shit monster at me, and now this thing? I'd shoot you right now if I didn't want to know what the fuck is going on!"

"A change in the way of things, partner. _Former _partner. Like none this world has ever seen."

"I'm sick of your riddles!"

The outlaw - still shaken from his lapse in composure - raised his weapon again, intent on firing this time, but Bryce pulled another trick out of his sleeve and leaped backward. The space between his feet and the floor only continued to grow, though, and finally his shoes lighted upon a rafter forty feet above the ground.

"You can fly now, too?"

"That was just a little hop," he taunted in a bored tone.

"Well that ain't gonna stop me!"

Without another word Ryle grabbed hold of the dangling bell rope beside him and began hoisting himself up. His legs squeezed together and kicked all at once as he used his arms to go hand-over-hand ever higher. The insectile horror's head twitched as its lifeless black eyes picked up the movement and it advanced on his climbing shape. Looking on, Cross found himself at an impasse. Part of him wanted to flee to his injured companions, especially Angela, but he considered helping the pirate. While the ruthless criminal may not have been the most friendly person, he had helped them in the tunnels, even if it was to serve his own end. And maybe if Ryle could make his way into the rafters he could apprehend Bryce and they could get their answers. He knew they could not fight both the monster and Bryce on their own. So, he took his spear in hand and charged callously toward the beast.

The moment he did so the thing – which appeared to be a giant phasmid - sensed his intent, many thick and bristly hairs in its side and legs stiffened at the change in the atmosphere. It could not turn around instantly, so it scuttled onto a nearby pillar, crawling around the far side so its ticking head faced the approaching boy. The mandible under the eyes spread apart, revealing an opening lined with ugly hair and teeth curved inward, and unleashed a proboscis that shot straight out as though it had been fired from a cannon. Cross could barely skid to a halt as the tongue-like organ pierced the floorboards at his feet. If he had kept going it would have gone right through him. As quickly as it had struck, the proboscis was sucked back into the mouth that had produced it, and the owner of both set upon Cross with the tenacity and emotionless hunger that only bugs seem to possess.

Seeing their friend in danger, Soren and Pearl ran into action without hesitation, leaving Ikaika sprawled in the dust, still clutching her wounded thigh. Angela had not moved an inch, she only stared in horror at the deep red fluid which had begun to clot on her fingers.

Above, Ryle had finally clambered onto the platform which held the collapsed iron bell. He stood up quickly to probe the shadowy area with his weapon. But Bryce had disappeared.

"You going to hide from me now? I always figured you were scared of me Bryce."

He wasn't answered, but he knew the elusive fiend had not escaped. He was somewhere up there.

"If you're such a fuckin' big shot, why don't you come out and fight me like a man?"

This time he was answered by low laughter. Mocking him, slowly building up in the dark unseen corners. He took one hand off of his gun in order to cup one of his ears and was startled by a sudden whistle as something spun quickly through the stuffy air. A weapon that was no more than a steel ring, the outer circumference of which was lined with several shapes resembling the fins of a shark, flew out at him from nowhere and stuck deep into the skin between the middle and ring fingers of his right hand. The slight webbing was sheared and the ring of metal became wedged firmly between his metacarpals, an inch past the knuckle. He hissed sharply at the pain but would not cry out. The laughter reached a crescendo and he looked up to see Bryce perched comfortably at an intersection between two rafters in the middle of the room.

"What a shame, I was aiming for your trigger finger," he droned, reaching for a row of blades stitched onto an arm of his jacket.

Ryle was forced to run behind the great bulk of the bell as several daggers flew into the wall behind where he had once stood. He flattened his back against the iron surface and ducked as one knife bounced off of the broken bell with a hollow but loud report, landing between his boots.

"Agh, you son of a-" Ryle angrily shouted as he removed the metal implement from his hand and threw it away, "haven't you ever heard to never bring a knife to a gun fight?"

"It seems to be working for me. Besides, you only got one shot."

"One shot's all I need to take you out."

His voice swelled as he spoke, and he punctuated the highest point of volume by picking up the errant knife at his feet with his good hand and flinging it as hard as he could over the top of the bell. It sailed uselessly through open space, coming to rest handle-up on the floor next to Cross. The young man hardly noticed as he was faced down by the speedy and erratic creature that called this stuffy structure home. It reared up on its hind legs as it closed in on him, keeping balance with the tail end of its abdomen while four of its deadly, hook-tipped feet thrashed about. He searched for a weak point, his mind moving too fast to think as catecholamines were rushed into his system by his rapidly pumping heart. The tip of his weapon drooped, then shot forward, missing completely as the phasmid swung its head out of harm's way. With the eyes and mouth out of reach, Cross tried a swipe at its lightly-colored, pinkish underside. The point of the spear only glanced off of the hard chitin. Now the creature mounted an offense, two of its forearms swung at the boy in a motion designed to drag him in close. Instead its hooked feet caught the shaft of his spear and easily ripped it out of his hands. The additional legs protruding from its thorax attacked with the same raking motion, this time catching the youth on the back and arm, ripping open the wound that had already mostly closed from the healing potion. Unarmed and ensnared in its limbs, Cross could only fight through the pain and try to push away before Soren arrived, using his own great size and strength to throw the insect off the precarious balance it had acquired on its hindmost legs.

The biggest problem with this strategy was that Soren could not predict the strength of an overgrown bug; having its muscular tissue on the interior of a hard exoskeleton gave it a distinct advantage over the soft, fleshy human. After releasing Cross from its deadly embrace, the thing turned and chomped down on the heroic scholar's shoulder. Its crushing mandibles easily tore the muscle of his deltoids and trapezius, close to the side of his neck, and his bellow of pain was unlike any they had heard from either him or any man of his stature. Pearl, not wanting to get close to the beast that was getting the better of them, grabbed the closest bench with one hand and flung it forcefully at the monstrosity. It landed squarely on the back of the phasmid's thorax, breaking apart loudly as it did so. The creature buckled from the impact but had taken no damage from the blow. It now turned from the collapsed body of Soren, fresh blood dripping from its jaws, to stare coldly at Pearl with eyes devoid of intelligence, remorse or thought. She froze instantly. Not being the biggest fan of bugs, she had been reluctant to attack the thing in the first place. Now she truly regretted it.

In the corner, Ikaika could only listen to the cries of pain from her would-be companions, as her attention was on the open wound in her leg. The bullet had passed straight through, which was better than still having a bullet stuck inside, but on its journey it had scraped the bone and artery of the femur, causing great pain and a flow of blood that would not stop. She glanced over at Angela, still unmoving from the shock of such a mortal threat to her life.

"Angela," she tried and got no response, "hey! Angela! Snap out of it!"

The younger woman finally came to, looking up with dazed eyes before they finally settled on the form of the warrior.

"Ikaika? What? Am I going to..."

She reached up to her neck again.

"You're fine! It's just a flesh wound."

"But my-"

"Listen! You're going to be _fine_! But if we can't recover and help, then we're not going to make it out of here."

The gravity of the situation finally hit Angela and she twisted around to see Cross and Soren lying in heaps on the floor. Pearl was trying to survive, dodging endless strikes from the claws and proboscis of the quick, horrific insect as the nave was ripped apart in the struggle. She heard voices from somewhere above, and apprehensively looked up to the highest points of the church, before the roof sloped up into darkness, excluding where an occasional puncture allowed a stream of light to pour in. That crude man from earlier, Ryle, was meandering onto one of the wider beams above their heads when he suddenly stopped, swinging the butt of his rifle blindly in front of his face. However, when he had stopped swinging the weapon there was a glinting object lodged in the wooden stock – the edge of a knife. Before another moment could pass he was beset by a brightly-clad figure who appeared to materialize out of the shadows at incredible speed. Bryce swung and stabbed with a blade in each hand, but Ryle somehow managed to fend off most of the blows, wincing as each deflected strike knocked a fissure of pain up his blood-stained hand and forearm.

Her attention went back to the unmoving, ripped and stained bodies of Cross and Soren. She called their names, hoping at the least that they lived. The response came as a groan barely audible over the rest of the cacophony inside the crumbling building.

"I can't move... ugh... I can feel the floor though... and my back...hm...how bad am I bleeding?"

Angela remembered something she had seen in a book once, back at the school in Lohan. It had said how insects, regardless of size or shape, carry numerous diseases that can be fatal to humans. For now Cross and Soren were stunned from whatever that beast had been carrying, but if left for too long the paralysis would reach their diaphragms and they would asphyxiate. More body purifiers were needed if they were going to have a chance. She scrambled around her surroundings for a second before remembering how Bryce still had the bag with everything she needed in it - to fix Ikaika's leg, to help Cross and Soren, even to provide a distraction for Pearl, who weathered constant attacks from the pursuing creature. Even now she nearly buckled under the force of it as it pressed onto her blade, which she held defensively over her head with both arms. The insect abomination's strength nearly topped her own as it's tenacity never dulled, making it physically tough to contend with. A magic item would do just the trick though, except she would need Ikaika's help to get the item bag back. Maybe if she could make at least a field dressing or _something_, they could rally themselves from there and find a way upstairs to confront Bryce and that pirate, if he was against both of them.

As she turned calmly to the leg of Ikaika and reached over it to wrap some cloth around the bleeding bullet hole, she froze when finally inspecting the wound from up close. The actual puncture in the skin itself was almost invisible due to the dark, seeping liquid that seemed to roil from it, rising slightly with each beat of her heart to settle only for a bit as the vital organ pumped again. She noticed that rate decreasing very slowly, however, and thought maybe a dressing was not going to help at all. Soon Angela felt slightly sickened by the sight, and moved her hand in the way to block the view. Suddenly her mind went blank and the building almost seemed to get brighter. The only thing that could come to her mind was the symbols she had been reading in the book for the last day or so. Except now they were arranged in a way that made sense, a shape with definite order and purpose, a symbol for something deep and profound. She felt herself being abruptly jolted back to reality by Ikaika's voice calling her name. It would have sounded normal if it didn't sound so full of amazement instead of the warrior's usual sharpness. Angela turned her hand over to observe as color appeared to deepen once again, and strangely there was no more of her own blood on her fingers. They were perfectly clean. Her focus shifted wearily to the injured leg once again, and there was no longer a leaking puncture. Nothing remained on her clothes either; any red had been evaporated by the spell.

"How did you...?"

Ikaika's stare lingered for a moment, giving way to that killer instinct once again as she stood comfortably back up.

"Right, no time for that. You can explain after."

Her gaze was now locked on the insect that had mangled her companions. With an expert skill that looked practiced - as if by some circumstance she had felled exactly such a huge monster before – she ran for it, leaped and turned into a slash as she unsheathed one of the swords at her waist. It struck at the perfect angle to cut clean through a space between two of the armored carapace plates at one of the joints on the phasmid's slender legs. The limb was nearly severed and sagged downward, flopping around at a strange angle. Now trying to scuttle its way around and face this new foe, the miserable thing lurched on the useless extremity, leaving pasty green entrails where the stumps landed. Injuries as serious as that never heal in the case of insects, so it was now doomed, but would use every ounce left of its life killing them. Ikaika was still nearby though, fast enough to keep at its flanks where it couldn't reach and passing between the rising and falling legs with a planned ease. She was able to jump onto its hunched thorax as it finally swung at her with one hooked tarsus, the curved talon just missing her feet. Climbing swiftly over its back where it had no hope of reaching her, she swung an arc downward in a U shape, removing another leg from a joint closer to the body, prompting a slight howl from the creature as more organs fell from the fresh opening in its side. Her pace never slowing to match the pained movements of the insect, she swung down from behind its abdomen, immediately running once again. As the overgrown phasmid's body passed overhead, and its remaining legs on each side, it began to lower its front to launch another strike from the mouth concealed on its long, stalk-like head. Prepared for this as well, Ikaika stabbed upward briskly, landing inside of the mouth-parts just as they opened. The creature's head snapped up with a shriek and, unable to stop the forceful outward expulsion of its feeding tube, haphazardly released the appendage toward the ceiling. It reached a fair distance with unwavering power, eventually landing on the beam where Bryce was balanced, just beneath his feet. This sent him flying as his arms wheeled for balance, causing the strap on the cloth bag to slip off his shoulder and out of reach just as he grabbed for it. The surreptitious man was just able to snag a neighboring rafter with one searching hand as gravity yanked him down from the impact.

"Got you now!" Ryle exclaimed triumphantly as he took aim at his dangling foe.

Bryce desperately threw a knife sidelong, breaking the pirate's sight as he easily batted it aside.

Back on the ground Angela had run into the center of the nave to catch the falling item bag. Ignoring the thunderous struggle between Ikaika, Pearl and the dying beast, she quickly found what she had been searching for: a spinning gale. Within seconds the attack item had been crushed and thrown on to the ground near the agitated crimson monstrosity. A harsh wind arose, cooling the interior of the church and whipping up a cloud of dust and debris. The air flowed in a circular motion, building up to a cyclone that sprang up from beneath the clueless insect with enough strength to suck it directly upward through the center of the vortex, spinning at the mercy of the tornado. It's body crashed through the remaining rafters, making Bryce's grip on the wood monumentally useless as he fell downward, still clutching the broken piece of structure. Ryle had thrown himself forward right as the bug smashed the rafter where he had stood, and he aimed his gun forward with a single arm as the carnage whirled about him. Time froze as he and Bryce's eyes met for a brief moment. For once he could see the terror scrawled on his enemy's pupils, and Ryle relished it greatly as he pulled the trigger, ejecting a bullet that sailed powerfully across space and into Bryce's forehead. Directly below, Pearl felt a shadow growing over her and looked up to see Bryce's body about to land on her, his now loose limbs spread out, making him look to her like another bug pouncing from above. Acting instinctively and out of fear, she swung at it full force, rending the flesh of his torso like wet bread and redirecting his fall from downward to forward. The bloody mess that remained of him splattered all over the front entrance with enough speed to break the barricade, flinging the doors open as his corpse tumbled into the street beyond. Immediately after that the oversized pet he had been keeping landed in the pews. Finding itself on its back, its legs assumed the crooked, groping shape that all bugs seem to do with their legs when they expire. It still lived, but barely, and this was cut short when Soren appeared at the front of it, having been healed of his wounds and immobility. He raised his mighty ax over his head and decapitated the monster with one crushing blow. More green entrails spilled from the neck stump, forming a wide pool in the center of the floor, some of the gore trickling in a steady thread into a hole in the floor created when Cross had been avoiding death minutes before.

The young man himself was slumped in a seated position on the floor, his arms resting between his raised knees. He was no longer stunned, but had yet to be treated for the lacerations across his back and shoulders.

"Why won't it work now?" Angela groaned, passing her hand over the cuts and forcing her eyes shut.

"Why won't _what_ work? What's taking so long?"

"My healing spell. It worked just a second ago on Ikaika..."

"You're crazy. Can't you just give me a healing fog? This _really_ hurts."

Their conversation was broken up by a storm of cursing from off to the side. From a pile of ruined rafters and bench splinters, Ryle stood up to calmly brush the gray dust from his impeccably dark coat, taking particular care with the gold buckles on the front. His black hair was eschewed, dangling in his face as he beat the dust off of his clothes. When one hand was free it became a comb and brushed the stray hairs back into formation and out of his eyes. His attention was now locked on the front doors of the building, barely held on by the rusted -and now broken- hinges. Slowly he paced over to the frame and stepped down the first few steps of the steeple. A small crowd had now gathered just beyond the gate a few feet in front of him, some of them pointed and bantered to each other at his appearance. He didn't notice. He only saw a mess of blood, shredded cloth and even skin littering the stones below him. The body of Bryce Barra had vanished.

"Hm," he snorted before repeating, "Bryce... just what the hell have you become?"

Finally he turned around and took a good look at the group behind him. What were a bunch of commoner sucks like these doing tooling around with the likes of he and Bryce? He particularly noticed that kid, who he had spoken to in the sewer. That kid had run full on at that overgrown termite when it came after Ryle. He concluded that they had most certainly lost their minds, but regardless had their uses...

"Okay, I'm glad that little tiff is done with, thanks to me," he boasted, strutting into their circle, "but now I've got a few questions for you-"

He was suddenly punched in the cheek, and found himself looking at the floor instead of that cute girl in the white tending to the kid.

"You fuc-" he turned and raised a clenched fist in the direction he had been struck from, but stopped with his hand in the air.

Staring at him with eyes ablaze was one of the most beautiful women he had laid eyes on, and lay eyes on her he did. He groped up and down her supple curvature, lingering on the hole in her pants through which bare thigh could be seen. After a while he found his way back to that furious face, tragically wrinkled by that useless emotion.

"What was that for, sweetheart?" he changed his tone entirely. While he was handsome, and had that way about him that was almost debonair, his utterly vile disposition could not be excused.

"You _shot_ me!"

"I shot... you? No, couldn't happen. I would never shoot such a-" he narrowly avoided another swing without blinking, now that he had seen it coming.

"Hey, calm the fuck down! What if I did fuckin' shoot ya, it looks like your fine now!"

Ikaika stopped her assault of the tall, cocky man. That remark caused her to remember how Angela had miraculously healed her, without any medicine at all. As of now the girl was finished tending to Cross, both were standing in the gang of strangers who had vanquished their tricky and fatal foe.

"How _did_ you do that?"

"I don't know, it was... just like when I read the book. My eyes went out of focus and I started seeing strange things and it almost happened without me thinking about it..."

"Mmhm, yes, this is all very fascinating," Ryle yawned rudely, "what about you, kid? What's your story?"

"Me?" Cross put a hand on his chest.

"Yeah, you. You show up out of nowhere, tip me off about Bryce, run head-first at a bloodthirsty fuckin' giant bug thing, nearly getting your sorry ass killed the whole way, I mean- what the hell is wrong with you? Why did you... help me?"

The pirate seemed puzzled about the very fact that he cared why. What did it matter to him if these idiots got themselves killed trying to help someone who couldn't be helped?

"You ever hear the term 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?"

"That's one way of looking at it... it's a pretty fuckin' stupid one too, if you think long and hard about it. Who are you people anyway? You're all just as fucked as him?"

"I am Soren," the monstrous man at Ryle's left reached out a gigantic mitt that was not taken, "I am just as insane as the lad here, though possibly a little more experienced."

He winked at Cross as he spoke, making the boy smile.

"And the firebrand?"

"Ikaika," she huffed, arms crossed.

"What a nice name. Like a punch to the face," he was genuine at first but became sarcastic.

"I'm Pearl!" the youngest member of the crew, as jubilant as ever, hopped toward him and politely held out a deceptive hand.

Ryle looked at the hand and followed it toward her body, noticing her for the first time. He quietly regarded her with a look of confused interest, bordering on suspicion.

"How old are you?"

"Uh, fifteen," now she was confused, "why?"

He completely ignored her and turned to Angela with a smirk on his face that made Cross want to grab Ikaika and conspire a beating the pirate wouldn't soon forget.

"And you are?" His deep voice dropped from the sharp tones he hit as he cussed and overall spewed unpleasantness. It became silky and seductive, more becoming of his confident stride.

"Angela," she told him nervously, not knowing what to make of this kind of advance.

"Nice to meet, you, Angie," he put particular inflection on the changed name, "mind if I call you that?"

"Blech, yes, actually, I do."

She withdrew from him, troubled by his obvious attraction and the fact that he was utterly abhorrent. His style of dress, speaking and attitude was everything she had been taught to avoid from a young age growing up in the church. More troubling was the fact that he did have a kind of rugged handsomeness she couldn't help but notice.

"That's a shame," he said indifferently, continuing to smile at her. However, now he had moved on to the kid with the long brown hair.

"Cross," he said coldly without being asked.

"Cross..." the pirate surprised him by offering his hand, which he took. The gloved hand squeezed relatively hard, like the contact would allow him to absorb whatever information he so desperately sought from this troubling youth before him. They looked into each others' eyes for a while, each searching for something different, and those watching from around them all noticed that they did have similar eyes. Both possessed some arresting ferocity where they could look right through you with a single gaze. Cross noticed a warmth in his hand and saw the way the squeezing of Ryle's hand made more blood flow into his own palm, though the pirate seemed not to realize.

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again," the man's voice took on an eerie tone like he had just snapped out of a trance lasting several years, with this being the vital piece of wisdom he had discovered in doing so.

He silently turned his back to them and went toward the far end of the church, his heavy black leather boots echoing on the hollow wooden floor. Something bothered him though; he wanted to go back. Some force he could neither explain nor comprehend urged him to turn around and not leave. He shook it off though, and ducked through the hole he had punched in the wall just as the first of the patrol guards entered the front door.

* * *

Soren calmly strolled down the streets of Fletz, each hand snugly stuffed into a pocket, subconsciously making his way through the business district while his mind lingered on other things. He was stuck on the morning of the previous day, before his companions and he had even laid eyes on the mansion of Henri Bouillard.

After leaving the group behind, he had gone alone to a low building several streets over, the windows blocked by the shapes of people chatting affably as they sat at tables with food and drink. Recognizing it as the place where he had been told to go, he pushed through the loosely-hinged door blocking the entrance and past a group of young friends on their way back out into the muggy heat after a filling meal. Their smiling faces waned a little as they met his grim bearded countenance, but they continued to laugh with each other regardless. He entered the establishment, swarming with patrons escaping the heat wave outside to cool their bellies with spirits and idle talk. A familiar face seated at a stool waved him over to the bar, where he too found a seat, planting his elbows on the polished counter while leaning forward.

"Good morning so far?" It was Immanuel, his friend who had introduced them to the king.

"I suppose as good as any could be, in this damn heat," he almost resigned with a sigh, "beer, please."

The barkeep nodded and set to fetching him a mug.

"I see you've made yourself no stranger to the drink in my absence. Can't say I'm surprised by that," Immanuel took a sip of his own brew.

"It is becoming of a man to allow himself the enjoyment of a good drink, time and place permitting."

"Do you still drink like you did... before? Before you left?"

Soren leaned back as the bartender set his beverage on the counter, then reached into his pocket to fish out a few coins. He seemed irritated at how his friend was treading carefully with his words, and did not speak until after he had taken a few long, thirsty gulps of beer

"No."

"That's good, then. I was worried you may have pickled your liver by now."

This did coax a laugh out of Soren.

"Maybe I had already, but this is me we are talking about. Ah, I do miss this atmosphere though. Good company, a cold drink on a mild day, my bones do not ache from daily endeavors. Thank you, Immanuel. I had long awaited catching up with an old friend over a drink."

They clinked glasses then, and each took another sip. Immanuel's glass had long left his lips while Soren still greedily drank. The smaller man seemed nervous still, or at least apprehensive about some words on the end of his tongue, or a question creating a gap in the air.

"Listen... uh, Soren-"

"Another one, please," Soren called to the barkeep after planting his empty glass on the counter.

"Soren, what are you doing? As noble as it seems – and I know you are a man with no lack of nobility or ability to recognize it – don't you see the foolishness in what you're doing?"

The now former woodcutter looked at his friend coldly.

"I do not know what it is you speak of."

"Come now, I know you're better than playing the fool with me like that. Your intention of helping those young people is characteristic of your great heart, and in that respect I'm glad you haven't changed. But have you finally done what I feared since the day Evelyn and the twins died and gone suicidal?"

Soren had taken another drink as his friend spoke and stopped abruptly at the mention of the woman and children.

"I-I'm sorry, my friend..."

"Must you bring that up, after I had just finished stating my content at this pleasant meeting? After I have spent so much time of my _life_ forgetting that?"

"I'm only bringing it up because I knew them too, and I don't think this is what they'd want you to do. I fear for you, Soren. I fear for your safety. You're no warrior, and busying yourself with the concerns of knights and killers for the sake of people who just days ago you weren't even aware of is going to get you in trouble. Perhaps even... killed!"

The big man shook his head and wouldn't meet eyes with his friend of many years.

"It does not matter how long I have known them, or if I knew their parents, or even their grandparents!"

He paused and rubbed his forehead for a moment, finding the words or even the fortitude to speak them.

"The first time I saw them, Cross and Angela-"

"The two older ones?"

"Yes. The first day I saw them, it was from a considerable distance, a couple hundred yards maybe, but Immanuel, when I saw them, I thought they were ghosts! I know it cannot make much sense, but I was convinced it was them! The ghosts of my Matteo and Sidony, exactly how old they would be today had I not lost them. I had this strange feeling inside, but... when I saw them, I thought it could only be them. I came to my senses not long after that, only finding them to be average young folk caught up in matters greater than they could perceive. But I still see them in my head, from that far off distance, looking just like my own son and daughter should have, had they grown up."

He stopped and brought the mug once again to his now trembling lips, relieved at having gotten that off his chest but no less angry at his nearby peer, who looked on solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Soren. I'm sorry for having asked, I'm sorry about your children and wife, but please, don't leave this weight on my conscience. I watched you come apart at the seams years ago, after they had gone. I saw you fall to pieces because of the drink. And now I'm seeing it happen again, except you aren't drinking yourself into an early grave, your simply throwing yourself to the wolves!"

Soren would not reply, only turning his mug inside the ring of moisture it left on the wood counter.

"Are you quiet because you know I'm right? That fighting the conclave is hopeless?"

"I'm sorry, too, Immanuel. Sorry you cannot see things the way I do."

And Soren finished his drink.

"Fine, that's fine. But I stand by what I said. I can't watch you do this. Good luck, Soren. And goodbye."

He stood up and threw a handful of coins on the counter, careless of their amount. His frustration at being unable to get through melted for a moment and he regarded Soren with a look of pity, but turned and walked out of the door before he had looked for too long.

Soren didn't watch his friend leave, only stared ahead and muttered, "get me another one, barkeep."

It was with that that he left the establishment some time later, having drank his piece so quickly due to his poor mood that the alcohol managed to affect him enough for Cross to notice as they argued on the street, in the shadow of Bouillard's abode. As surprised and offended as he was at the accusation, it granted him a view of the connection between them, like something he had always hoped for with his own son, and it endeared him even more to the peculiar young man.

Now Soren snapped out of his own thoughts, blinking hard while reaching up to scratch his scruffy jaw. He looked up and saw he had stopped at the corner of Hasting street. Taking his other hand out of its pocket he opened the door to the book store and stepped inside to be greeted by a white-haired, red-eyed shopkeeper.

* * *

Cross was alone. After they had returned from their mission, everyone had gone off on their own. Angela was in the library reading fervently from that book again, Soren had wandered into town, Ikaika stalked the palace grounds somewhere, and he had no idea where Pearl had gone, but she couldn't get into too much trouble. As for him, he had locked himself in his room which had nothing but a bed, a shelf with a few common books and some containers, and a small desk with a comfortable, upholstered chair. He wasn't concerned with comfort, however. Something had been bothering him from the moment they left the chapel and went to resting for the evening. The captain and especially the king had been pleased with their debriefing, promising another elegant meal that evening to reward them for their hard work. This did not bother him either. What had caused him to shut himself up and away from everyone else was the voice. That voice again. As soon as he thought he could relax, there it was, nagging at him again. Taking nips and potshots at his thoughts from somewhere within his own head. It was driving him to the end of his rope. The only thing he could do was try to find somewhere quiet where he could battle this schizophrenia in privacy.

With the window closed to the bustle in the courtyard and the streets beyond, he had gotten exactly what he was looking for – quiet. Not a single vibration shook the air around him, making the unremarkable room into a solitary think tank for the time being. Even the hall seemed empty as no sound crept beneath the door to disrupt his concentration. It was now, in this total silence, that he cleared his mind and confronted this inner voice.

"Who are you?_ What_ are you?" He focused the thought inward.

The silence continued for a minute; it seemed as though his question or maybe his resolve alone had banished it. Then, in a voice that came from no throat, but was still loud enough to make him clasp his hands over his ears in pain:

"_I know you well. You are a part of me. I know you better than I know myself._"

He had never heard this before, and the voice seemed so loud. It was, for some reason, the last thing he ever wanted to hear and all he could think of was how much he wanted it to stop. The voice continued, distorting and draining away as it repeated itself.

"_I know you best, better than one might think. I know you better than I know myself. I know you well, better than anyone. You don't speak. You can't leave. You can't hurt me. It's time to die a little._"

Cross clutched his temples as the words cycled over and over in his eardrums, getting louder, deeper and more distorted. His head ached, and he was afraid that this would go on forever as the pain kept mounting and the unrelenting voice only continued to get louder and louder. Just when he couldn't bear it anymore and the headache felt like it was actually splitting his head wide open, he collapsed and fell, unconscious, to the floor.

* * *

**Here's another one, once again later than I had expected. School work just piles up and next thing I know it's the only thing I'm doing when I have any free time. Got exams at the end of this week, going to Montreal to see Georges St-Pierre kick some ass this weekend and then it's back to the books. Hopefully I can get more writing done over the break.**

**Anyway, concerning this chapter, I had been working for a while to try and make the fight scene flow much better and overall more enjoyable to read. I always start with rough drafts that provide a faint outline, and sometimes I'll go back and read them and find out they don't really make much sense. So I'm re-writing as I go along, which is tedious but personally I find it fun to know I'm actually improving what was there before. The part with Soren is for some more character development obviously, but also to show that while I don't explain some things right away I will eventually return to them and answer some questions you readers might have. Plot holes are the enemy, after all.**

**So if I don't crank another one out before the twenty-fifth, have a very Merry Christmas!**


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